Genevieve, I beseech thee
by Salty Peanuts
Summary: Ivan, a WWII veteran, is on his deathbed, and makes a last request to see a man he had met long ago under the grey skies of Manchuria. But, just what happened between them to have taken Ivan more than a life's time to forget? Rochu.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone, this is my new series. I had wanted to do something like this for a while, but haven't found the right pairing. I wanted to with Skwisgaar/Toki from Metalocalypse, but it didn't fit them well. Then I tried Howard/Raj from BBT, but I soon lost interest in the fandom altogether. (Yes, Weltschmerz was going to have a different, non-crappy ending, if I had been more motivated.)

So now, I'm going to try again with Rochu, because it doesn't suck, nor does APH. :)

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_It was one of those rare cool, breezy summer afternoons in San Francisco, California. Everyone was out walking their dogs in the park, enjoying a late lunch at their favourite place downtown, or just lounging under the sun. There was always something to do in this colourful town, especially when you're young, vivacious, and live in the United States of America._

_Watching the lives of others while lying upon his own hospital bed evoked a sort of warm, yet empty feeling in the heart of Ivan Braginsky. He knew he had not long to live, and seeing young people enjoying themselves in perfect health could only put a sad smile on his pale, wrinkled face._

_With great effort, Ivan turned his head to the other side of the room, while careful not to crack his head too painfully like the last time. Along the wall stood an array of machines, maybe five or six, flashing their strange lights at his weary eyes. All were hooked to different parts of his body via plastic tubes pinched under his skin. Amidst all the mechanical buzzing of those machines, his own heartbeat, as displayed on the monitor, reminded him every few seconds that he was still alive. _

_Ivan had been in the long-term care unit for a while, ever since the doctors had told him that he would have to be put on life support if he wanted to live at all. He was ready to just give up until his son, Vasili, insisted in a fit of rage, and offered to pay out of his own wallet. Ivan had tried to convince him that this was a waste of money, trying to keep what was an empty shell breathing, but his son wouldn't have any of it. _

_Since his relocation, Vasili, and his daughter, Anna, had made two brief visits apiece. They were busy with their own lives and families, and Ivan didn't blame them. _

_They had said their mother couldn't make it because she was busy. Though, Ivan knew better. Natalia probably didn't even want to see him in the first place. _

_On the bright side, his friends, Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, made it their top priority to drop by for a few hours every day, which was nice. They'd laugh, talk, and eat something other than microwaved hospital food. Well, Alfred would do most of the talking, Arthur most of the whining, and Francis was be the only one who bothered to tend to Ivan while other two bickered. _

_Around Ivan, they tried to sound optimistic by telling him of the places they'd go and things they'd do, when he got better. Ivan, of course, would play along and allow himself to believe, only for a second, that the situation at hand wasn't as hopeless as per his medical records. _

_Other than that, Ivan spent most of his time nowadays alone in his room, staring up at the blanched ceiling without saying anything to anyone, not even himself. He could ask the nurses to take him outside for a stroll, or make small talk, but Ivan would rather waste his days lying in bed, and while in his mind, pining away at the sweet days of yore. _

_Ivan lived the latter half of his life reminiscing about his younger years, playing those precious moments over and over again in his head, until he swore he could taste them on his tongue. They were what kept him alive, the only constants amidst swirling uncertainty, the haven from chaos and strife. Even after he had lost everything in the material world, been stripped down to the bone, the memories lingered, for him to live, to breathe. _

"We should be happy, Ivan. Some people live their whole lives without ever being with the person they love. At least we're luckier than they are, right?"

_Even now, Ivan could still remember the gentle, soothing, almost motherly sound of his voice. All the words he had ever said to him, all the the tender moments they shared, he could still see in his head as vividly as if they had happened yesterday. _

_The memories were the only things that made him happy anymore. _

_Though, Ivan didn't know if they could save him now. _

_One only existed as his will to live, and, Ivan no longer willed to live. Even though machines could now work in place of his vital organs, and pump blood throughout his physical body, his mind was still deteriorating, and there was nothing anyone could do..._

* * *

"_How long?" Francis asked one day, when they were alone in the room._

"_I don't want to find out." Ivan admitted, and gave a grim gulp. _

"_...Well Ivan, is there anything I could do for you, before you go?" _

_Francis waited patiently for a minute or two, and still Ivan said nothing. Instead, the man turned his head to the bedstand and reached out a shaking, shrivelled hand, in a vain attempt to grab something. Francis quickly slid the pill bottles towards the wall so they wouldn't be knocked askew. _

_Ivan hitched his breath in effort, but his wrist fell limp upon the bed. He realized just how impossible doing simple tasks had become. _

_Francis frowned curiously, and snatched the object on the table for himself. It was an issue of Times magazine that was dated to almost five years ago, despite its glossy, unwrinkled cover, as if it had never been opened. Though, Francis knew better_—_ Ivan had probably flipped through it countless times. _

_On the front cover was a black haired man wearing a suit and tie and standing with his arms crossed. His name was Yao, and was an old friend of theirs, and had moved to New York. In a matter of a few decades, he apparently had become one of the most powerful people in the country. Despite that, Yao still seemed to have a soft, almost innocent gaze about his eyes, as if he was still inexperienced of the world around him. He looked rather young, though numerically, he was a few years senior to Francis and Ivan._

_It pained Ivan to flip through the pages of the magazine, but he still found the mental will, and physical stamina, to do it once every single day._

_Francis sighed and shook his head. Of course he knew what Ivan wanted, he knew it all along. _

"_Ivan, Yao's not the same person as before, and probably wouldn't want to see you ever again. You know that, right?" _

_By the look on his face, Ivan probably would have punched Francis in the face, broke his arms, and ripped his throat out, if he had the strength. But, Ivan still said nothing in response. _

_Francis smiled apologetically for having pointed out the painfully obvious, and pulled the bed covers over the man's shaking body. _

_Secretly, Francis hoped he would never have to contact Yao and inform him of the news. He didn't want be the one to tell Yao over and over again that Ivan was dying, because he most likely wouldn't believe it the first time. Francis didn't want to hear what Yao's reaction would be. He didn't want to be the one to convince him to rescind his busy schedule, fly across the country, requench an old flame, then immediately attend his funeral. _

_It would take some kind of God to do this, and Francis didn't think he had what it took._

_But, when he looked into Ivan's eyes, his heart ached. Underneath the pale, dimming pools of lavender was flooding with desperation. They were begging, pleading for him to reconsider, and though Ivan still kept silent, he really didn't need to say anything._

_Francis figured it would probably hurt less to do what Ivan wanted, than have those eyes haunt him for the rest of his life. _

_Besides, he could probably trick Arthur into doing the phone call instead. _

* * *

_Wang Yao, chief executive officer of one of the biggest banking corps in America, was staring out of the window of his office. Perched upon the top floor of the tallest, most formidable skyscraper in all of New York City, he overlooked a radius stretching for many miles on end. On sunny days, and if he squinted hard enough, even the Statue of Liberty was visible._

_Having finished his imperial duties for the day, the man resorted to admiring the city scenery with a warm, steaming mug of tea in hand. Though this couldn't tantamount to the majesty of the snow-capped mountains, evergreen timber, and clear-blue firmament of his homeland, it would have to do, for the time being. _

_Even though he was quarantined, by tinted, inch-thick glass, from all the noise and dirt outside, Yao still couldn't help but feel a bit... disgusted by his surroundings. _

_Yes, he actually stopped to realize just how inexplicably disgusting the world around him really was. Today was one of the few times when he actually had enough free time laying around to take a deep breath, step back, and assess his life thus far, whereas usually, he would be sent to tumble down a steep hill. _

_Yao was used to having a busy life, and even after his company had risen to the apex of the capitalist food chain, he still wouldn't give himself a break. _

_It wasn't that he had much to look forward to back home in his stingy, one-bedroom apartment. Yao had no friends either, beyond his circle of corporate acquaintances. Plus, he was still single and had no children, despite that he was fifty, almost sixty years old. _

_Friends were selfish, and used each other to fulfill their own needs. Women only wanted him for his money, and the looks he used to have. Plus, he found children more troublesome than adorable. All of the human relationships he'd ever made ended in sad, bitter farewells, and at this point in his life, Yao thought it was too late to give false hope another joyride. _

_Yao remembered when he used to wear his heart in his sleeve, and trusted whomever his dizzy little head wanted to trust. He remembered being weak, confused, and in love with the worst mistake of his life. Everyone was young and innocent once, even he. _

_Though Yao usually did a good job of keeping his mind preoccupied with work, he swore that his mind had a mind of its own, as it would squirm through the cracks to find the memories he had meant to hide beneath mounds and mounds of paperwork. _

"I love you, Yao, more than anything in the whole world..."

_When thoughts like these did resurface, Yao took the whole day off, and went home. He would be thrown in a spinning, swelling maelstrom of emotions, and not be able to get anything done. Instead, he'd stumble back to his apartment, lock the door, and pour himself a drink to help to quell the anger, envy, hatred, sadness that roared like famished beasts inside his gut. _

_When the dust eventually settled, and the demons hushed, what always prevailed was a dull, yet sweet pulse at base of his breastbone. They were akin to, or perhaps were just a mere mockery of, those nights long past. _

_Nevertheless, Yao lavished in them, and made no attempts deny himself for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Yao swore that if he thought hard enough, he could somehow feel Ivan's arms wrapped around his shoulders, their fingers entwined in a nest, those chilling lips at the edge of his collarbone. He could be truly happy, for a small while, even though he would be gravely disappointed when his eyes eventually cracked open. _

_As pathetic as it was, Yao still found himself thinking about Ivan after these years, after how much he had hurt him, after how much pain Ivan had made him go through. _

_Logic would dictate that Yao must hate Ivan, but he just couldn't bring himself to. He never confessed his thoughts to anyone, maybe except to his own silhouette on his apartment wall. _

_This was a filthy secret of his, and Yao figured that it was perfectly ordinary for anyone to have at least one of those. _

_Yes, a filthy secret, and it must stay that way. _

_Despite how much he wanted them to, Yao took all necessary precautions to prevent these emotional trips from happening, for they simply weren't... economical. Yao kept telling himself that he sat on top of a multi-million dollar conglomerate, thousands of investors, and millions of employees worldwide, which meant, he couldn't afford to stop for anyone's sake. Not even his own. _

_He snuffed embers out before they could turn into a roaring fire in the blink of an eye. But, when accidents did happen, he indulged in them. _

_With that thought, Yao gulped down the last bit of tea, hating how it was always the most cold and bitter. Placing the mug down on his desk, he plopped down upon his executive chair ungracefully, and slammed his pounding, aching head upon the table. _

_Oh great, now he was in a bad mood. _

_Yao prayed that no one today was going to bring him anymore bad news. Or else, he might just hop on a plane and leave his life in New York City for good. _

* * *

_Fate, as cruel as it was, did eventually accommodate to Yao's request of a surprise phone call, and eventual plane ride across the country._

"_Hey Yao?" Arthur's achingly familiar voice spoke from the other end, his British accent as precise and cutting as ever, "I'm calling about Ivan. He's dying, and wants to see you. Look, I know I shouldn't even be speaking with you right now, but I promised him that he would get to see you, no matter what. Please Yao, you must still have feelings for him somewhere, it can't be too hard to dig them up... I'm not going anywhere until you agree, Yao, I can't..."_

_Yao, who couldn't handle listening to him anymore, hung up. After looking around to double check that no one was in his office, he buried his face in his hand, and for the first time in many many years, he wept. _

_Yao did eventually call Arthur back, and agreed to fly to California, despite that he had sworn to never come back again. _

_But, he told himself it would be the right thing to do, to fulfill a dying man's last request. It was a mere moral transaction, and nothing more. _

* * *

"_Is this what you really want, Ivan?"_

_Ivan wearily closed his eyes, and nodded once. The air above them, which had been dangling so tensely for the past hour, finally cleared up. There was no more strife, no struggle. Only regret, guilt, and most of all, understanding. Ivan had already expressed his wish to leave this world, and for everyone at his bedside, trying to convince the man otherwise would only be of his bane. _

_Ivan's children were working, and he didn't want to trouble them to come. The day that his son had sent him upon life-support was their de facto goodbye, so Ivan's actual expiry date really wasn't that important. _

_Besides, Ivan was too weary to care about whether they respected their father's wishes or not. By the time they found out, he would already be dead, thus unable to feel guilt. _

"_Why the hell would you want to kill yourself, Ivan?" Alfred asked bluntly, looking back and forth between his other two friends for an answer. _

_Arthur and Francis dismissed the question, and kept their heads down. Alfred eventually did as well. For what felt like a few minutes, all that was audible was the faint buzz of the machines, not even their own breathing. _

"_I don't want him to see me like this," was Ivan's answer. His glassy, lifeless eyes rolled downwards, scanning every inch of his body, which was connected by a feeding tube or electrical cord of some kind. _

_Ivan's pasty lips folded into a sliver of a frown at the sight of himself having been turned into half an android. He never thought he was beautiful in the first place, but he would rather remind Yao of the person he truly was. _

_Francis nodded, like he understood. "We're gonna miss you, friend," he whispered, trying to swallow back the tears. _

_The others exchanged glances, and nodded in agreement. With all words said, and all deeds done, they waited patiently for the nurses to perform their service. _

* * *

_The flight had been very nerve-wrecking for Yao, to say the least. The person sitting beside him seemed to had noticed his manica, but chose to read the newspaper anyways. _

_When Yao got off, he remembered not even being able to recognize Arthur, a friend he had known since he came to America many decades ago, and shook his hand like he would to a business client._

_Arthur seemed as sarcastic and cynical as ever, and his balding head and wrinkled face only added to the effect. _

_Driving through the sunny streets of San Francisco in a old, beat-up stickshift only brought him back more memories. He and Ivan's first flat, an old apartment building, had been demolished, and the land was currently on lease. _

_Yao asked Arthur whatever happened to that diner where everyone used to hang out. Arthur glowered at him, and mumbled grumpily that it had closed down years ago, and was now a funeral home. _

_The car came to a stop in front of the hospital, and Arthur gave Yao specific instructions on how to get up to Ivan's room. Yao hadn't been really listening, but managed to find it on pure instinct. He dragged his feet across the sterilized marble floors, and before his mind could register, he had already strode past the doors to Ivan's bedside. _

"_Y-Yao, you're finally here."_

_It took a few seconds for realization to hit him, not more, not less. Yao's knees gave in, letting his bottom hit the barely cushioned mattress of the hospital bed. Amidst the ruck of wrinkled flesh and unkempt hair that had become Ivan's face, his pale lavender eyes were as lucid and pure as the first time he looked into them. _

_Mindlessly, Yao reached out a hand to caress the cheek beside his watery smile, but sanity took over, and he stopped in mid-air. Yao bit his lip and quickly retracted his fist to his chest. _

"_What did you want from me?" Yao asked instead. The coldness of his voice even made himself shiver. _

_Ivan chuckled in response, which sounded more like a cough. _

_Yao stared at him for a while, as he struggled to gain his breath, and poured him some water from the canteen. Ivan gulped down the water quickly and tossed the paper cup aside, so that his hands would be free to grab Yao's before they were taken away. He held onto them, like they were his last lifeline. _

"_I want you to stay," Ivan replied, his voice reduced to but a bare, ghostly whisper, "Please Yao, I won't be long, just... don't leave me again..."_

_Yao closed his eyes, and opened them again after a few, painfully long seconds. He walked over to the other side of the bed, slipped off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. _

_He smiled awkwardly, and took the frail man in his own thin arms. Ivan had lost a lot of weight, and was but a pale echo of the handsome man he once was. Silver hair had become wizened and patchy, the healthy glow of his skin had faded to a livid yellow. But despite that, he was still wearing a crisp, newly ironed tux, and his tie, his favourite tie. _

_Yao smiled and shook his head. Silly Ivan. _

_Listening to his ragged, strained breathing, Yao couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to die. Did it hurt a lot? It must. Even though his body was as cold as a block of ice, Yao still held him tight. _

"_So, what have you been up to for the thirty years?" He murmured. Hopefully, this would distract him. _

_Ivan coughed, expelling droplets of blood onto Yao's shirt. He swallowed the rest with great effort, and replied, trying as hard as he could to sound casual, "Natalia filed for divorce after the kids left for college, and m-moved away... Excuse me-" _

_He grit his teeth, and furled his eyebrows, at yet another throe of pain. After a few seconds, he relaxed, and continued his speech between panting breaths. There wasn't enough blood left in his body for his face to go red anymore. _

"_I g-got a job at the the f-funeral home, and my hours weren't too bad. So, I drank the rest of my days away. Such a smart thing to do, I know, having landed me a room here..."_

"_Well, that sounds better than mine," Yao admitted, laughing a little, "All I did was breathe, work, eat, and sleep."_

"_Don't you wish sometimes_—_"_

"_That we never fell apart? Yes, I do, Ivan."_

_Yao gently put Ivan's head against the crook of his neck, and closed his eyes, feeling the breath of his past lover fanning against his bare skin. Yao was happy to have found Ivan, and serenity once more, but he knew that it was beginning to fade. Ivan's life was going to slip from his grasp, and he had to let go no matter what. _

"_Yao, do you remember when we first met?"_

_How could he forget?_

**TBC**

* * *

:D I hope you liked it so far, please give me some feedback as to how you think, and whether I should continue. Thanks! I'll update it... soon... Haha.


	2. Chapter 2

This story is kind of like Brokeback Mountain, but Rochu-fied.

If I ever wanted to write a Hetalia version of Brokeback, like use the story itself, and just insert the characters, it would definitely not be Rochu. Oh dear can you imagine? Two commies down in the heartland of America, ranching and lasso-ing?

Can you guys think of a good pair that would work? I have one in mind, kind of, but I would never in a million years write it.

* * *

Ivan Braginsky lived the early years of his life as a derelict, caught between the cracks of failed social experiments and general system corruption. All the food he ever ate was snatched from carts, and the only clothes on his back were stripped from a mercenary job he did a while ago.

Ivan was only sixteen when he received the conscription letter. He was just a normal teenager living in a empty, one-room apartment complex back in Moscow. His mother died when he was young, and he liked to pretend that his alcoholic father was dead. He was a nobody, and how the army had found him in the first place was beyond him.

They probably thought that Ivan was a ward of the state, and therefore, a soon-to-be dead soldier on the far eastern Manchurian front.

The gruesome army regimens for all new recruits was like breathing air to Ivan, and three more years had passed with the blink of an eye. Then, he was sent out of the Siberian training camp, and was shipped off to the east. There, Ivan soon became the model soldier for his division, which made him a target of jealousy among his comrades, and eventually, isolation.

Though, Ivan Braginsky didn't need any friends, and only needed to survive. At least the government rationed him enough dried bread to rid his hunger pains, and he was glad with just that.

Perhaps all the soldiers in his tent _feared_ Ivan, and that was why no one dared stepping within a five-feet radius of him. He honestly couldn't think of why else. He showered regularly and washed his socks, after all.

Fortunately, Ivan didn't let the isolation get into his head. Everyday, he would zip through the training and wolf down his meals, just so he could spend the rest his time on his bed, staring blankly at the wall. He didn't move around much other than to smoke, or for a brief toilet break. For hours on end, he found himself peering at the wall with a pale, razor-sharp gaze, as if he was going to cut a hole in it.

No one in the cabin knew what could be going on in his head to have made him behave this way, and would rather not ask. After they had seen what Ivan did to the first person who dared to confront him, they knew to stay away from the monster.

* * *

One day, a visitor came onboard. He was a fair-faced Chinese man with a long, pitch-black hair, and was at least a head shorter than everyone else. No one spared him a glance, and when he politely asked to speak to the lieutenant in soft, broken Russian, they just thought he was only here to deliver a letter or for some other menial purpose.

The lieutenant walked in front of the troops later that evening with a bloody mouth and black eye, and announced for everyone to welcome Wang Yao, the new private. Everyone did as they were told, despite the strangeness of the whole situation. But in all honesty, the other soldiers thought the new guy didn't look like he could survive one day of training, let alone last for a second on the battlefield.

It was probably because Yao looked like a woman that often times, people would jokingly hold the door for him, tip their hat when he walked by, or offer to carry his gun during marching. Yao would bite his tongue and smile. But, he never let his demeanor collapse, and waited patiently for when he could finally demonstrate to everyone why he was hired in the first place.

After single-handedly wrestling five men who were twice as large as himself, Yao was accepted, if not revered, by all the other soldiers in the group.

Ivan had only heard from his bunkmates about the new guy, and decided that the news didn't concern him, other than that he may have to share a tiny portion of his daily rations of Vodka.

It was not until one evening when he was feeling a little more loose than usual, and decided to eat dinner when everyone else did, when he saw Yao for the first time.

Ivan was sitting at the dinner table with a dozen other hungry men, stranded on a single three meter wooden bench. He had been forced to sit with half of his bottom hanging, with everyone else around him chattering about something Ivan wasn't even pretending to be interested in.

Ivan remembered when he first came here, he would try to latch onto the conversations happening around him, and maybe get a few words in, just to make it seem like he belonged. But, he just could never catch up, not that they were willing to give Ivan a chance in the first place.

In all honesty, Ivan never felt as small and transparent as he did around his own comrades.

Nowadays when he had dinner in the public, he would just dive down and not bother to look up from his plate until he's done, then leave immediately afterwards.

But, just when he was about to do so, a sparkle caught his eye.

Amidst the dank, muggy atmosphere of the cafeteria, underneath the dirt-red light of the hanging kerosene lamps, Ivan saw that someone had been... smiling at... him. At first, he turned back to see whether it had been aimed at someone else, but there was no one else.

The new Chinese private was sitting diagonal to Ivan, on the other corner of the table, and had spared _him_ a thin, brief smile, waving his small hands sheepishly.

Their gazes had met only for a mere second, and it took five more for Ivan to register in his mind. Though the other man had already returned to talking with his friends, a lapse of judgement had prompted Ivan to wave back.

Immediately after, Ivan excused himself from the table due to a certain feeling swelling at the pit of his stomach, which he suspected had been heartburn.

The heartburn persisted for the rest of the night. And, for all of the days that came after, Ivan ate his meals with everyone else. He didn't know, or cared to understand why he began waking up every day hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious person. Even simply hearing his voice or laughter, or just have the hem of his ironed shirt brush against his own would do to put a smile on Ivan's face. It made his many hours under the sun go by much more quickly, so Ivan didn't feel he needed to resolve this gnawing curiosity of why he was so preoccupied with this person.

As time went by, Ivan found himself watching the man more and more closely, though his feet remained afar. His name was Yao, or so Ivan had heard. He trained under a different squad than Ivan, and slept in the tent adjacent to his. He came from the south, and despite his thin physique, he mastered all of the training just like any soldier was expected to.

There was something about everything that Yao did. How each and every movement he made was so precise, assured. How his gentle, pure tone of his voice could easily cut through noise like a knife in butter. Ivan never thought it was possible that anyone would, or _could_ look so graceful while simply talking, eating, or doing push-ups, even.

Ivan remembered hiking for hours to see the northern lights as a child, and as he held his hands out for the iridescent rays, there always existed the realization that they would see right through him.

Nevertheless, whenever Yao walked by, Ivan would wave, however shyly, and maybe even mouth a "Hi." Then, he would continue marching with the rest of the team, while telling himself how utterly _wrong_ it was to keep his head turned back to stare at a fellow soldier, wide-eyed, for an extended period of time.

When one's stranded in the barren, windswept Manchurian tundras, the littlest ounce of warmth would make him happy. In the thick of war's acrid scent, one would do anything for a breath of fresh air, for a semblance of sanity.

* * *

"_Yao, do you remember when we first met?" Ivan's sickly breath blew gently against Yao's face as he spoke._

"_Of course I do, Ivan," Yao replied, gingerly brushing aside the dying man's grey bangs from his face, delicate fingers caressing along a sunken, jagged jawline, "You were so handsome..."_

_Yao felt his hand squeezed tightly by the other, and though Ivan stayed silent, Yao knew exactly what he had wanted to say. _

"_You still are," he corrected himself, cursing his own quick tongue, and kissed the tip of Ivan's nose in apology. _

* * *

The first time they actually spoke was three months and fifteen days after their first fateful encounter. It was a chilly November evening, and the grey, swirling skies overlooked a near-deathly silent campground. Ivan went out for a walk around the edge of their property, preoccupied with a whirlwind of unmarshalled thoughts plaguing his mind.

Suddenly, he heard a cry, as the iron fence on the other side of the campground began to rattle. Ivan grit his teeth, freed his pistol from his belt, and ran over to investigate, thinking it was probably just a stray dog.

When he got near enough to see the culprit, he froze mid-step, as his weapon dropped onto the ground with a clunk.

Through a thicket of discarded barbed wire and scrap metal was Yao, crouching and clutching his head, sobbing his heart out.

Ivan instinctively reached out to try and scoop him into his arms, but luckily, he was stopped by rationality.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped. Yao looked up, and said, while trying to swallow his agony, "Oh hey there, Ivan. What do you need?"

"Is something wrong?"

Yao looked away and shook his head, smiling painfully. He sighed, and patted the piece of ground beside him. Ivan obeyed, tossing the wire and metal aside and joining him on the ground. It felt as if they had been friends long before this, and in a sense, they were.

Yao's eyes were bloodshot, like he had been crying long before Ivan found him. His taut ponytail had been ripped loose, exposing a head of jet-black hair that had been gnarled and torn. He reached in his coat pocket, and tossed upon Ivan's lap what looked like a letter. Ivan frowned at the foreign characters that he couldn't read, and decided to hold his tongue.

"I had a fiancee back home," Yao explained eventually, "And we were supposed to get married right after I got back."

Ivan blinked a few times. "I see," he grumbled, as his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch.

"I'm pretty sure she didn't even want me," he continued, glaring at the letter that was now resting upon Ivan's knee, "She was a nice girl, and only wanted to abide to his father's wishes. Then, she was—"

"—Did you love her?" Ivan cut in, his voice a little colder than he had intended.

Yao's eyes widened in slight shock, but eventually, he sighed and brushed the intrusion aside.

"Well, no, I didn't," he admitted slowly, as if trying to convince himself, "I knew her from when we were little, but I didn't want to marry her just because my parents said so. At least I know she's happy now... I have always wanted to do something more with my life rather than stay in my little village, which was why I joined the army. I want to make a difference to the world, you know? I want to protect my family, so that my descendants wouldn't become slaves to the Japanese."

"Oh."

Yao shrugged, and hugged his legs together bashfully, having revealed his most dear and intimate thoughts to someone he barely even knew.

"...Yeah."

Yao seemed to be feeling a little better now, after he had said what he wanted to say, and Ivan was glad. But, Ivan continued to stare at him like he had been for the past few minutes, as the pigments in Yao's cheeks turn red one by one under his persistent gaze.

"So Ivan, why did you join the army?" Yao asked after a while, in a more serious tone.

Ivan chortled and shook his head, ashamed that his own story was nowhere near as heroic. "I came here because I had nothing else better to do back at home. At least here, I get free drinks and get to die sooner..."

"But don't you have family back home?"

Truth be told, Ivan was happier than anything to hear the worry laced in Yao's voice.

"If you care to know, I was born in Moscow to a dead mother and bastard father," he began monotonously, toying with a piece of barbed wire between his fingers, "He was passable as a parent when he was sober, but when he was drunk, I got beaten until I couldn't feel pain anymore."

Yao gasped, and Ivan chuckled. The casual tone in which Ivan said those words scared himself as well. But, he had told the story so many times that it had become like reading from an owner's manual of a car.

"It's not that bad," he assured him, patting the smaller man on the back, "I managed to run away when I was fifteen, and set the house on fire after he passed out on the couch. So, he's probably dead now."

Ivan waited for Yao's response, which never came. Disappointed and slightly embarrassed, he bit his lip as silence befell them once more.

A murder of crows loomed in the wake, and had found rest along the telephone line. Their cackles annoyed Ivan, and if his gun was still within reach, he would shoot down a couple, just for fun.

Instead, he looked over at Yao, who was still staring down the tattered riding boots he wore, which were much too large for his feet.

"Um, Ivan?" Yao said eventually, looking up.

"Hm?"

"I think if you died, I would be worried."

Ivan raised an eyebrow, and turned to Yao, whose determined, firm expression showed that he felt what was said was perfectly normal, completely justified. But little did he know, Ivan had never been told anything like that in his life before. So, Yao may as well had been speaking Chinese to him.

"I-I'm glad..." Ivan mumbled dumbly.

He reached into his coat pocket for something and took it out. Yao let out a squeak as Ivan leaned over until he was centimetres from his face. Smiling to himself, Ivan tucked something behind Yao's ear.

"I think it suits you." Ivan said, shrugging.

"What is it?" Yao asked bluntly, reaching up to grab the object, but was stopped by a large, gloved hand clasped around his own.

It took a few seconds for Ivan to register where he was, as well as where exactly his _hand_ was.

He rose up, turned away, and told Yao that he had to go. Then, he sprinted the other way back to camp, before Yao could call him back.

Yao frowned, slightly displeased that he was left alone in the dark. Huffing a little, he freed the little gift from his tangles of hair, held it up to the moonlight.

It was a dandelion.

Flowers never grew here, not in this weather, not from blood-stained soil. But before trying to figure out where Ivan had acquired such a little treasure, Yao held the flower up to his nose, breathed in, and let the familiar, springtime scent of his hometown drift into his nostrils.

**TBC**

* * *

I hope you liked this update! Please review! I always love to hear feedback about my writing.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a while, hasn't it? I'm hoping to get this story finished before September. It'll be a huge job for me, but good for the people who read this, I guess. ;)

* * *

The sun shined brighter than it ever did for Ivan, after he had met Yao. Nowadays, he actually looked forward to waking up in the mornings, because he knew that he wouldn't have to go about the rest of the day alone any more.

Yao always waited for him outside his tent, so they could go for an early hike in the mountains nearby. Or if Ivan woke up late, he could always find Yao at the breakfast table, sitting beside Ivan's empty seat.

The daily training routines had begun to go much more quickly for Ivan as well. Despite already having been crowned the "alpha" amongst his other comrades, Ivan was still making steady improvements as time went by. The superiors were even thinking about giving him a promotion. After all, they'd do anything to butter up their most favoured, and feared fighting machine for the battles to come. But, Ivan simply shrugged off the lieutenant's compliments like any humble soldier should, and continued doing his push-ups with one arm. It wasn't because he was sincerely humble, but that Ivan didn't even care about merits in the first place. Not as long as he spent every second of his off-time with his newfound friend.

Some days, Ivan and Yao would take strolls to the middle of nowhere, with no destination in mind, and chewing over anything on their minds. On other occasions, they would sit under the night sky and not say anything to each other the whole night, and just enjoy each other's presence.

Ivan enjoyed all the time he had with Yao, the first and only human being he found himself actually wanting to interact with. They were "friends", as Yao called them.

However, when it came to the other people that Ivan had been introduced to, a completely different story was to be told—

Ivan remembered meeting two new people on a Saturday night, in the dusty, makeshift recreation room. Their names were Feliks and Toris, and they had claimed to be occupiers of the bunk bed next to Ivan's, ever since they started here. Though, Ivan had no recollection of them at all.

Both had short, shoulder-length hair tied back in ponytails. They were short, and had large green eyes. The pair would have looked like twins, except one was a blond, and the other a brunet.

Ivan barely gestured a wave and took a seat next to Yao, who looked cheerful as always. The blond spared Ivan a glance, and whispered something to the other.

"This is my friend, Ivan," Yao said proudly, beaming up him, perhaps intentionally oblivious to the scowl hanging from Feliks' face, "He's a really nice guy. I think you guys'll like him."

Ivan reached for the gun in his pocket, and casually set it on the table, returning Feliks' scowl with a nefarious snicker.

Yao shook Ivan's shoulders, urging him to behave, and Ivan's lips thinned to a tight, terribly widened smile, which did a better job of frightening Toris than the prospect of war ever did.

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you both. I'm sure we will become great friends, yes?" Ivan said dutifully to the both of them, rolling his piercing purple eyes back and forth, from corner to corner.

When Feliks and Toris fell silent, Ivan clamped his mouth shut as well, thinking that he had said the wrong thing again in Yao's presence again.

"Uh, we live in the same tent as you, remember?"

For the rest of the night, Ivan didn't even care about what the other three were talking about. Maybe something about that good-looking new nurse down at the wing, and how the other two were trying to get Toris to talk to her? Ivan couldn't honestly remember. He just kept his head down and played with the little metal lighter in his hand.

A few minutes later, Ivan saw a small, thin hand patting his knee.

"What's wrong, Ivan? You're not yourself tonight..." Yao whispered.

Ivan shook his head, refusing to talk.

Yao tut-tutted disapprovingly, and used his sleeve to wipe the last bit of tonight's dinner from Ivan's mouth, as well as some sweat on his forehead. A stubborn growl escaped from the back of Ivan's throat.

Yao ruffled his friend's head playfully. "You sure you're okay, buddy?"

"I'm fine."

Yao didn't look convinced. "Do you want to leave?"

Ivan looked away. "No." He muttered coldly.

Yao sighed and shook his head, and returned to talking with his friends. For the rest of the night, Ivan's mood failed to get any better, especially after seeing just how happy Yao looked when conversing with the other guys.

They tried to include Ivan by asking him some questions, to which he gave short, clipped answers, while ignoring the angry looks Yao shot at him.

"I don't like Yao's friends, and they don't like me either." He muttered under his breath as they were walking back home. Ivan couldn't even bear to look at Yao, and instead found himself admiring the night scenery. Frost coated over top of the lawn, making the blades of grass sparkle, like icicles under the moonlight.

"Well, they probably would have liked you better if you weren't being such a bonehead!" Yao retorted, the redness in his face was still somehow visible under the dark lighting.

Before Ivan could get a word in, Yao had already turned and stomped away back to his tent.

Ivan stood still frozen where he was, livid with anger. He wasn't mad at Yao, Feliks, nor Toris. Instead, of all people to be mad at, he chose himself.

Ivan laid awake in bed that night, thinking as hard as he could about how to apologize to Yao the next morning. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he lazily watched the wisps of smoke escape through his lips, and eventually diffuse into thin air.

_What to do?_ _Does Yao not want to be his friend anymore?_ He asked himself. The fact that Yao was upset, albeit only a little upset, was making Ivan's mind restless. Random thoughts were being tossed at him, and he couldn't hush them. Instead, Ivan found himself tossing and turning in cold sweat.

Because Ivan was a quiet thinker and was easily distracted by noise around him, it didn't take long for Ivan to notice the noises issuing from the bunk bed beside his.

There were sounds of bedsheets shuffling, a body, wait no, _two_ bodies moving frantically. Ivan held his breath and listened more closely, and swore he could hear heavy, but carefully restrained breaths, as if the culprits were desperate to keep their activities silent. Turning his gaze to the source, Ivan saw two people on the bunk bed beside his, probably the ones he had just met earlier tonight, entwined with one another. Ther silhouettes were clearly projected onto the wall by seeping moonlight. Illuminated were two pairs of naked legs that were soaked with sweat, a bit of blood, and whatever else at which Ivan wouldn't dare to imagine.

Ivan's face wrenched in disgust. He snapped his eyes shut, rolled his back to them and clutched his stomach, trying not to puke.

Those wretched men, fucking like filthy animals, when they had sworn an oath to be soldiers, not a couple of squeamish, prattling fairies!

If they kept this up, someone's going to find out sooner or later, even if Ivan kept his tongue. By then, they would wish they were dead. A simple shot in the head would be the most merciful sentence for these worthless ingrates.

* * *

Early next morning, all of the soldiers on camp were pulled out of their training, and were gathered for a brief meeting. It was an chilly, cloudy day, and everyone had just finished their first lap around the camp site. The lieutenant, who had just finished putting his pistol back into his belt, announced that Feliks Łukasiewicz and Toris Laurinaitis had "resigned" from their positions. This was supposed to be a good news, because everyone was getting a bonus on their weekly rations. More food, more supplies.

But, Yao was devastated. In a bout of shock, he turned and left. Ivan immediately jumped upon the opportunity to follow him, leaving the scene as well.

"Y-Yao! Wait!"

He pretended to not hear, and kept on walking until they reached the edge of the campground. Ironically, it was where they first met. The vines of barbed wire were still there, but have rusted under the beating sun and heavy rain.

As much as Ivan didn't want to admit, Yao no longer looked the same as he did a few months before. He could see a few more wrinkles now along his friend's forehead and jaw. His skin seemed to have darkened, much like the soil here, after being bombarded by feet, fire, and filth every single day.

Yao gulped down a hiccup, and vigorously rubbed his nose clean, as if he hadn't meant to cry in the first place.

"Ivan, you know about Feliks and Toris, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you must know what happened to them..."

Ivan nodded. "They're dead, or might as well be."

After Ivan had said those words, the realization finally dawned on him. The truth became... real.

"You probably know _why_ they died, then."

Ivan shrugged carelessly. "There are rules, and they failed to follow them. So, they deserve what they got," he said. His voice was so monotonous that it was frightening.

A certain, tender sadness began to flood into Yao's dark brown eyes. He tried to blink it away, but to no avail. "Ivan, do you really think that?" Yao whispered through barely parted lips, as if beckoning him to change his mind.

Ivan said nothing, his face maintaining its undisturbed pallor.

A gust of wind flew by, lifting the loose tassels of Ivan's scarf, along with the tail of his trenchcoat. Somehow, he now seemed bigger and more intimidating than Yao had remembered him to be. Those purple eyes from behind Ivan's ash-blond bangs gleamed more brightly, more menacingly, than ever before.

Yao reached over and grabbed his hand, as it felt like Ivan's heart was going to hop out of his throat.

"Let's go, Ivan."

"Okay."

As he allowed himself to be led away, Ivan felt his one hand beginning to sweat, so much that he was afraid it might soak through his leather gloves.

"_This is wrong... This is wrong... So wrong..._" His mind repeatedly told himself, over and over again like a maddening mantra.

When they had reached ten feet from the camp, Ivan looked around carefully, and shook his hand free. Before he could allow Yao to speak, Ivan excused himself for a trip to the loo.

"Hey, you don't look so good. Want me to come?" Yao hollered from a distance away.

"No! Leave me alone!" Ivan yelled back, immediately regretting how harsh his tone was.

Ivan stumbled past the rickety doors of the bathroom, and slipped across the wet ceramic tiles. He leaned against one of the sinks for support, waiting for his heavy, ragged breaths to subside.

He screwed open the faucet and splashed some water on his red-hot face, hoping it would sober him up a little. Clutching the edge of the water basin, Ivan arched forwards and retched, over and over again until he tasted bile.

Then, he proceeded to rip his gloves off and toss them to the side, as they fell onto the floor with two wet slaps. Taking a deep gulp of air, he placed his shaking hands under the running water, and began to scrub.

There was no soap, but Ivan was still determined to clean them, until they were perfect from nail to knuckle. His skin felt raw from the repeated rubbing against each other, but Ivan didn't care.

Goddamnit, he wanted his hands _clean_! Was that too much to ask?

Yao, his best friend, was _never_ to be associated with something so vile, so disgusting ever again. If only Ivan kept his hands to himself!

That's how it starts, isn't it?

First you find yourself staring at your victim more than usual, then you would give any excuse to get closer to them. Before you know it, they are pressed against the wall, crying and begging, while you're fucking them senseless.

Ivan would never, in a million years, wish for his most beloved person in the world to go through the same fate as he did as a child.

Even now, those memories of his father still tucked him into bed on some nights, especially when he was already tired, disappointed, or anxious about something, just to add oil to the fire. After all those years, Ivan could still remember how cold it was in that basement, the damp, semen-stained hell where he was forced to stay for weeks on end. The chill pierced into his bone marrow, and it didn't help that he had been forced to remain stark naked, while waiting for that monster to come down and break him over and over again, every single day.

No, Ivan will control his barbaric instincts, and stay well away from Yao from now on. He must pinch out the flame before it turned to a fire. He would gladly chop his hands off, if need be! That was what friends were for, right? He was not his father, and would never become anything like him. Ivan was better than that, and ever since he met Yao, he felt the need to have to prove it to himself.

Ivan took a deep, trembling breath, and checked on his reflection in the cracked mirror in front of him.

His face was as red as raw flesh, and his eyes were so bloodshot that he was surprised he could still see out of them. He stood there, petrified, for god knows how long, and waited until the blood had completely receded from his face.

No matter how many hours Ivan spent under the sun every day, his complexion would always be this pale and sickly. This hideous.

He let out a beastly roar and drove his fist into the mirror, which cracked under his strength. Ivan scowled upon seeing the blood on his knuckles, and wiped it against his already dirty trenchcoat, hissing as the bare flesh grated against rough fabric.

He looked around. Luckily, no one had heard him. Even if anyone did, he probably would have easily gotten rid of him anyways.

Ivan rose, making sure his spine was straightened to army standards, and strode out of the bathroom, the heels of his boots clicking against the tiles.

The chill of the air nipped at the soaked skin on his face and neck. Ivan took a deep breath, hoping to refresh his lungs with new air, which smelled like smoke nonetheless. After all, everywhere was filled with smoke nowadays, and when there wasn't enough of it, people lit cigarettes.

Ivan's destination laid at his tent. He was planning to get a good night's sleep to forget about all the struggles of today, and start on a new leaf tomorrow. No one, ever, was to know about his mental breakdown.

No one was to know, and no damage would be done to his reputation. Ivan was still the model soldier of the division that everyone respected, revered, and _left alone_.

But, just when Ivan was only five metres away from his destination, what felt like a small moving object, probably another person, bumped into him, making him lose his footing slightly.

Cursing in his own language, Ivan looked down.

It was Yao.

"What are you doing here out so late, Ivan?" Yao asked, and Ivan could hear an icy indifference lingering in his voice. His skin prickled.

"I-I was just..."

"Just what?" Yao pressed on, folding his arms, unimpressed.

Then, it happened, way too quickly—

"Why are you following me around everywhere anyways, Yao?!" Ivan found himself yelling, ripping through the silence like claws on fabric, "I have my own stuff to do, you know, and I don't need you on my back all the time!"

Ivan's words came out uncontrollably like vomit, like the kind he had just spewed into the bathroom sink moments before.

"Jesus fucking Christ! It's like you're in love with me or something—"

"_Well, what if I am?!_" Yao screamed at the top of his lungs.

The pronounced words echoed across the quiet campground in waves, from one side to the other, before dissipating into the canyons.

Ivan brooded over the dire possibility that every last soldier living on the settlement may had just heard of private Wang Yao's dirtiest secret.

Ivan took a few seconds to react. He blinked a couple times and was about to say something, but Yao walked away before he could. Ivan couldn't bring himself to chase after him.

**TBC**

* * *

Being a hater for Mary Sues, I wanted this particular Ivan to be a flawed character. The reader may find him adorable and admirable, but also frustrating and hard-to-swallow at times. He's strong in some aspects, but completely lacks backbone in others.

I'll try to crack open Yao a little bit more too, but it's harder for him when the whole story is in Ivan's perspective.

Just keep that in mind when you read the further chapters. :) The whole story is not based in Manchuria, by the way.

Please review! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Hey! Here's my new update! Please enjoy. VuV

* * *

They never talked about that night again, and Ivan was happy with that. He just shrugged it off like he would any insult, and told himself to never think twice about it.

The next morning, he took a seat next to Yao during breakfast and said "Hi", like he would every day. Though Yao's reply had been clipped, his tone a bit colder than usual, at least he was still willing to respond. Ivan had a feeling that his friend was just as willing to bury the events of last night behind them.

Ivan was secretly relieved that this hadn't escalated into something more awkward and troublesome than it needed to be. He gladly called Yao his best friend, no, his _only_ friend, and Ivan wouldn't dare to associate his most beloved person in the world with something only filthy farm dogs did in a pen.

For the rest of their time together at camp, Ivan made sure to keep his distance away from Yao in public, to deter any possible suspicion. Things like these were no joke. If anyone accused them, Ivan and Yao would be sent home, or more likely, shot point-blank right where they stood.

* * *

"_Hey Braginsky, now that they got rid of those two faggots, maybe you and your girlfriend'll be next!"_

Ivan made sure the private who had said those words never saw daylight again. During roll calls the next morning, Ivan informed everyone that he had witnessed him trying to climb over the electric fence, and stepped on the wrong foot.

Everyone believed him, because it was a general understanding that Ivan Braginsky, the model soldier of the division, said no lies. Besides, it was only days before when everyone was about to be dragged to the battle front, and with the prospect of war weighing in their hearts, no one cared if one life was snuffed out a little sooner.

* * *

They left camp on a sunny, cloudless day, early in the summer. The train bumped along the weathered tracks, carrying hundreds of young men to their demise. They would soon find out that war was not glorious, as promised by the colourful posters on the walls.

But in the meanwhile, the air was cheerful among them. Youth was still to their favour, and they could only hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Ivan sat alone on the bunk bed he shared with Yao, looking out onto the rocky terrains that were soon to be splattered by blood and guts. A gentle breeze flew from underneath the yellowing curtains, almost taking with it the last piece of notebook paper he had on the desk.

Ivan took off his cap, and combed through his head of greasy blond hair with his fingers. He hadn't had anything to eat today, and the hunger was really starting to take a toll on his general mood.

Reaching over to his desk, he flicked off the radio that had been buzzing static for the past three hours. There was no hope to get any reception out here.

Chucking the accursed piece of technology out the window, Ivan sighed, and buried his face into his palms. He stayed there until there came a reason for him to look up.

A few minutes later, Ivan heard a tapping sound from above. He rose, and saw Yao beaming at him. He smiled back wearily.

"Come up with me, Ivan," Yao said cheerfully, holding out his hand, "No point in staying in a rut all day long, right?"

Reluctantly, Ivan took Yao's hand and was pulled up by his surprisingly able strength. The sunlight, of which Ivan had not seen a single shred for the past few days, stung his eyes. But nevertheless, he was relieved to have finally climbed out of the musty, foul-smelling train hole.

Ivan didn't understand why Yao could be so cheerful. He was swinging his feet up and down on the edge of the roof, and singing cheesy patriot tunes along with the choir of soldiers further down the train.

He almost didn't want to rain down on his partner's good mood. But, there were words that needed to be said sooner or later.

"Yao, I need to ask you something."

Yao nodded, and scooted closer to him. "What is it, Ivan?" He asked, brown eyes narrowing with undivided attention.

"Well, we're going to war soon... What'd you think of that, Yao?"

"Not much, I guess... What's wrong?"

"... Oh, nothing..." Ivan hung his head, and looked down to his dirty, raw fingernails.

"Well Ivan, don't tell me you're scared!" Yao teased, nudging him in the shoulder.

Ivan _was_ scared, but not for himself. After escaping from his father's grasp for good, he vowed to himself to never be scared of anything else again. He left Moscow for war not fearing death in the least, but for the hope that he would die sooner and get his wretched life over with.

But in the few weeks past, Ivan had found himself drenched in nightmares again. It was the same one over and over, the one in which he finds Yao's body face-down on the ground, limp, cold, and no longer breathing.

Ivan was not scared of his own death. To him, it would be clean, quick, with a pinch of pain. The prospect of death never daunted Ivan in the least, just as long as it wasn't Yao.

"Yao, when we go to battle, I want you to stay right behind me, okay?"

"Uh... Why?"

Ivan licked his chapped lips, and looked down to his worn-out boots. Saying this was harder than he had thought.

"So that I can protect you. I just... I don't want you to get hurt or die out there."

Yao replied with a slight, dry-edged chuckle, and shook his head.

Ivan's face fell. "I'm serious, Yao," he urged, looking him in the eye, bright, angry purple searing into the warm chestnut, "You're going to make it out alive, do you understand me? You're going to go on, leave this place, and-"

"No, you're wrong, Ivan," Yao replied firmly, "We're both going to live through this, and we're going to protect each other. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I want to die an old man, warm in my bed. Not in these trenches!"

Ivan stared at Yao for a long time, his face a blank, inscrutable slate. He simply didn't know how to respond.

_Did staying alive mean that much to Yao? _He couldn't help but wonder.

The fiancee that Yao had vowed to spend the rest of his life with had left him for another. When he left his village, his father had denounced him as his son, and ordered him to never come back again. So, if none of his loved ones wanted him anymore, then why did Yao still have this iron will to survive? For what purpose?

Ivan kept no secrets from his best friend, and he was sure he knew everything there was to know about Yao. And because of that, Ivan decided to trust him, and allowed himself to believe that in this moment, he was Yao's most important thing in the world.

* * *

Eventually, war came to them, just like how the evening sun would set, or how spring became summer. But for Ivan, who had been so deeply spun into the momentum of his daily routines, the throes had hit him harder than Thor's hammer. One night, he was laying in the cot he shared with Yao, and the very next morning, they were marching onto the front to meet their end.

As they were walking down their last stranded, god-forsaken path, Ivan saw many of his comrades leave the badges they had earned, their watches, jewelry, and other prized possessions on the side of the road. Final prayers were said, and goodbyes were bid. Sad, wasn't it?

Ivan only held hands with Yao, and kept on walking.

What happened afterwards was nothing but a blur. Ivan remembered the sounds of cannons being fired, of guns cocking for battle. He remembered the general shouting orders, and soldiers following them like slaves.

The Soviet army proceeded into enemy territory with immaculate precision, their feet loyal to the maneuvers that they had been forced to memorize, their hearts loyal to the nation they had been ordered to protect with their lives.

But, like all things, their integrity was bound for decay. In fact, things that sounded neat and flawless in theory were only going to fall apart much more quickly. In the blink of an eye, Ivan found himself immersed within a raging whirlpool of flashing lights, corrosive, suffocating scents, and hopeless cries in languages he could no longer understand.

In the centre of this maelstrom stood the only clear, readable thought in his head.

_Stay alive and protect Yao_, it chanted over and over again, like a mantra.

Ivan obeyed that order like it was godsent, and none other. His head was aching, pounding, threatening to burst through the thin membrane between sanity and madness. He could no longer see anything else but blood. Not the sky, not the ground, and as the seconds became minutes, the minutes became hours, Ivan couldn't even see Yao anymore. All he could see, and all he wanted to see, was red, red blood.

It was as if something inside of Ivan had been awakened, or rather, someone had flipped the "on" switch for the killing machine that they had trained Ivan to become. He gave a war cry that no one could hear, stood his ground against the spinning madness around him, and began shooting at anything that moved or breathed.

Ivan was too blind to tell from friend to foe. The outcries of dying soldiers, clashes of metal on metal, and the thumping of lit cannons had been reduced into a single, annoying buzz in Ivan's ears. He couldn't hear himself think at all, nor was there enough time to think.

Then, it happened.

"Watch out, Ivan!"

Yao's voice pierced through Ivan's ringing ear drums like a knife, and before Ivan could turn around, he felt something push against his back. The force was so strong that it made Ivan lose balance, as he fell to the side, face-first into the mud. He heard Yao scream for a split second, and then, he saw darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, they were still on the battlefield. The lights and sounds still had not faded, and it still felt as if Ivan's skull was cracking. He turned to see Yao laying on his stomach a few feet away from him, a pool of blood gushing out from a wound on his back. Ivan had finally realized what had just happened.

"Yao! Yao!"

Ivan stumbled over to where he was, gritting his teeth at the excruciating pain on his leg, where a bullet had been embedded. No matter, just a simple papercut.

"Yao, talk to me!" He roared, picking him up and rattling his shoulders.

Yao's head rolled to the side, a single drop of blood trickled from the corner of his lips.

"Please, I'm sorry, hang on..."

Tears dripped from Ivan's eyes, fogging his sight. He leaned closer to his friend, until his face was only a few inches away from the other's, hoping to feel the slightest breath of life coming from him. But, there was nothing.

Ivan picked him up, and stood. Luckily, Yao was short enough to be carried by one arm.

He freed a pistol from his belt with his other hand, and held it in front. Ivan dashed across the field to where the Soviets had set up camp, splashing through filthy, slimy puddles, stepping over detached limbs and discarded weapons.

The battle was dying out as well, the last standing soldiers were just about to end each other's lives, or their own. But, Ivan was still looking around as he ran, clutching onto Yao's body for dear life.

A hand shot out from a pile of wreckage and grabbed Ivan by the ankle.

"H-Help me..." A voice muttered.

Ivan cursed under his breath, and shot the rest of the bullets he had into the pile. He first heard a cry, and then silence, as a pool of blood flowed out underneath Ivan's boots. The hand had finally let go, and Ivan continued running without looking back.

_Yao will live_, Ivan told himself, as if he could control fate, _he won't die_.

Ivan didn't allow himself to think about what would happen if Yao couldn't make it. Death wasn't a possibility. But, if Wang Yao died, there would be no Ivan Braginsky anymore.

Crashing into the nursing tent and elbowing through the line of other injured soldiers, Ivan ran to the centre of the room and set Yao down on one of the hospital beds.

"Nurse!" He barked, making a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair turn around. Ivan grabbed her by the collar, and hissed, while foaming at the mouth, "Nurse, you're going to save his life, do you understand?! Or I'll crush you with my bare hands and-"

The nurse grit her teeth, and gave Ivan a loud, sobering slap across the face. When Ivan whipped his head back, he had a bloody nose.

He blinked, reality finally starting to set in.

"Oh, sorry," Ivan mumbled, as he rubbed the swelling, purpling bruise at the side of his face, "Didn't mean to do that..." _What had he come to? Verbally abusing a helpless woman?_

She shook his head, and wasted no time in assessing her newly arrived patient. She frowned at the sight of Yao. His kind face had been imbrued with sweat, blood, and dirt, and his limbs had been twisted out of their sockets. Yao looked a mess, and upon seeing the hopeless expression on her face, the way she scrunched her eyebrows, Ivan's worst fears had confirmed themselves.

He was tired of waiting for the truth to come forth— whether Yao was going to live or not. Anxiety was seeping into his veins like venom. It took all the strength left in Ivan to not reach over and just break the nurse's neck, and save Yao by his own means. But he knew he couldn't do that, no matter how much he wanted to.

Yao had already suffered enough in his hands, and if Ivan had anyone to blame for what had happened, it would be himself. Did he really want to yield to his own demons, and end up pinching out the last shred of life that Yao had?

The only thing that had ever been precious to Ivan, he had managed to destroy. Ivan had never felt more worthless in his life than he did now.

* * *

It was 4:00 am in the morning, as read by the clock sitting beside the fading oil lamp. Ivan groaned, and knocked the clock face-down upon the bedside table. He didn't need to be reminded that he hadn't slept for over a day now.

Ivan hadn't even left his chair for all this time, unless to go pee. Instead, he had been clutching Yao's now bandaged hands, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath. Even though all of the nurses had left him with high hopes for Yao's recovery, Ivan wasn't convinced. He stayed to make sure that Yao took his every breath, and that the next one was sure to come.

"Ivan, you should go to sleep now," came a dry, raspy voice, as Yao's hands slipped from Ivan's grasp.

"Y-Yao, is that you?"

He chuckled, which ended up turning into a cough. Ivan scrambled to the bedside table and poured him some water.

"Of course it's me, dummy. Who else could it be?" Yao teased, his voice barely audible. Ivan poured the water past Yao's thin, pale lips, and tipped his chin for him to swallow. Then, he took out his handkerchief and dabbed Yao clean, along with the crusts of dirt and blood still present on his cheeks.

His complexion was stark-white, and his swollen, inky black pupils were staring unblinkingly into outer space. Under the moonlight, Yao reminded Ivan of one of those porcelain dolls on display in the gift shops back in Moscow, the ones that his father had to drag him away from, whenever they walked down the streets. When he was little, Ivan had promised to someday buy one of those things for the girl he loved, if he ever met one.

If Yao ever got better, Ivan vowed he would take him back to his hometown to visit. If, it was still intact after the war.

"Yao, why were you so stupid? You could have just let him stab me instead... I would have taken the blow just fine..."

Tears were starting to cloud Ivan's vision again. He cursed himself, and muttered an apology, turning away from him. The last thing he wanted was to let Yao see him like this.

"Ivan, why wouldn't I?"

"Well, thanks, I guess..." Ivan hated that he wasn't any better with words.

"No worries."

* * *

Crickets in the bushes were chirping a different kind of tune tonight. A wolf's chilling howl echoed across the expanse. Ivan took in a deep breath, which was immediately coughed out of his lungs. The air smelled like acrid smoke and decaying flesh.

"Yao, do you think that after the war is over, we'll still be able to keep in touch?"

Yao frowned. "Ivan doesn't want me around anymore?" He asked wistfully.

"Oh no no no, that's not what I meant!" Ivan immediately smacked himself across the head, making Yao giggle a bit.

"I mean... It's not that I don't want you around or anything, but... After the war, I know I'd have nowhere else to go, no one else but you to turn to, Yao... Before I met you, I'd never said more than two sentences to any other person..."

Yao nodded wearily. "Okay, when the war's over, I'm going somewhere far to start a new life. And Ivan, you're coming with me. Deal?"

"Deal."

Gingerly brushing away strands of black hair, Ivan bent down and kissed him on the cheek. It was simple, short, and was merely an European custom out of politeness, nothing more. A light shade of red dusted across Yao's face. Or maybe, Ivan was just imagining things.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and please review! Anything is fine. Compliments, suggestions, flames, trolling, everything is good!


	5. Chapter 5

So much to write, so little time. -sigh- My only source of encouragement is the kind reviews you guys have been giving me, as well as caffeine. Thanks so much.

To give you guys an idea, these chapters are not pre-written. They are hot off the press. And with how often I've been updating... Yeah... I'm not even updating my headcanons blog on Tumblr anymore.

No social life unless I pump this out of my literary uterus!

* * *

"_Once upon a time, two people met under the grey skies of Manchuria. They became friends, and fought a war together. After the war was over, they decided to..._"

Ivan frowned, and scratched out whatever writing he had on paper so far. After crumpling and tossing his unfinished work into the bin, he fell back on the bed with hands behind his head.

Last night, Ivan had decided that he was going to write a novel about their adventures, so that when he turned eighty, he wouldn't forget about all the good times they had. But, Ivan realized how great of a task that really was, especially for a person who hadn't been to a day of school.

"Hello Ivan," Yao said cheerfully, taking a seat beside him and lightly punching the other man's tummy, "What were you writing there?"

"N-Nothing..." Ivan grumbled and turned his back to him, hoping that Yao would just give up on the investigation.

"Well, whatever. I just came here to tell you that we got a telegram from the general this morning. The war's over, and everyone's getting ready to leave now..."

"Oh, that's nice I guess..."

Yao walked over and pulled open the curtains, making Ivan at the blinding floodlight. The pounding migraine that had kept Ivan awake all last night was going to be the death of him.

Ivan took a deep breath, and said solemnly, "Yeah, I'm aware..."

Ivan didn't know why, but half of him wished that the war would never end, that he'd be able to spend the rest of his life here. Being a soldier was the only thing Ivan had ever been good at, and he didn't want to face the world without his uniform on.

"Well, Ivan, where do you want to go after this?" Yao asked, as if there was the silent acceptance between them that wherever one went, the other was sure to follow.

Ivan shrugged. Honestly, he didn't care anymore. "Where do you want to go?"

Yao joined Ivan on the bed, laying next to him. The smaller man scootched closer, and snaked his arms around Ivan's waist, pulling himself even closer. Ivan's spine stiffened, as Yao buried his face against his naked back, sun-chapped lips brushing against bare skin. Ivan looked around nervously. Thankfully, no one else was in the tent with them.

He could have pried Yao away. He could have. But, he didn't.

"I have always wanted to move to America," Yao whispered to Ivan, as if was an intimate secret only meant for the both of them, "I heard that's where all the lonely, hopeless people go to make millions. We could go there too, not to make a lot of money, but to start a new life. I want to put all of these horrid memories behind us, Ivan. Don't you?"

Ivan didn't answer for a while, and could feel the rise and fall of Yao's breaths become more and more rapid with every second of his reticence.

"Let's go then," Ivan replied after a while, before Yao started panicking even more, "But promise me that we'll stick together no matter what, okay?"

"Always, Ivan. Always."

* * *

After bidding farewell to all their fellow comrades, Ivan and Yao began their eastbound travels, doing any kind of work they could find to earn pocket cash. They lived that kind of life for a couple of years, sleeping in guest rooms on some nights, or out under the stars on others.

Though they didn't know where their next meal was going to be, or who they were going to meet tomorrow, Ivan was glad to just be with Yao. They didn't know if they were ever going to save enough money to go to America, but to them, it was a dream, a reason to wake up in the morning and live on.

Just when they were about to lay fallow their hopes of ever going to sea, Ivan and Yao met with a captain of a ship, who needed some physical labour. They eagerly jumped on board, and were given a free ride across the sea in exchange for pair of blistered hands and an aching back.

Ivan and Yao arrived many days later, halfway across the world in the harbour town of San Francisco, a name neither of them could pronounce. Everything seemed to be bigger in America. The downtown buildings, the cars, and even the sandwiches from the bakery they could barely afford. But the only things that weren't were the hearts of the people here. They treated them coldly, sometimes even cruelly, just because they were different. It felt as if Ivan and Yao were immediately shunned away as second-class citizens, just by the way they dressed or how they spoke.

However, Ivan was sure if they had more money in their wallets, these townspeople would be dogging after them like flies to dead bodies.

But, in the meanwhile, he and Yao made a cozy home under the Golden Bridge, a fort out of cardboard boxes.

Ivan looked over to Yao and sighed to himself. He wished he could provide more for his dear friend. A roofed house would be nice, and maybe a comfortable, actual bed instead of a pile of straw.

Their wallets were completely empty now, and so were their stomachs. Yao had every right to complain about their current life. But, he never did. He had never expressed to Ivan his dissatisfaction about anything, ever since they began their journey. And because of that, the guilt in Ivan's chest weighed heavier than the raindrops beating down on the pavement.

Ivan slid off his trench coat, and threw it over Yao's drooped shoulders.

"To keep you warm," Ivan added, in response Yao's puzzled expression.

For the first time in days, a slight smile dotted Yao's face, as his crusty, bloodshot eyes sparked with gratitude. He snuggled into Ivan's coat, his thin frame shivering from the gust of wind that tumbled into their home. Overtop, a chain of cars zoomed through the overpass, making the damp cardboard structure tremble.

Without warning, Ivan began to cough repeatedly into his elbow. Yao shrieked, and began patting him on the back. Scrambling through the contents of their knapsack, Yao took out a water bottle, screwed it open, and handed it to Ivan, who chugged it down without question.

River water had never tasted so putrid. It was making him, who had grown up drinking from the sewers, gag uncontrollably. Vodka was but a wet dream now.

"Ivan, you alright?" Yao asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," Ivan breathed, only because he hated to see Yao's forehead wrinkle with worry.

Yao's eyes narrowed.

"I'm fine, Yao,_ really_," Ivan persisted, trying to sound as cheerful as possible, though his aching throat was not helping with this endeavor, "We'll both be fine, in the end."

* * *

The days did eventually get brighter for them, and from then on, their fates started to take a turn. To this day, Ivan didn't know if it was for the best. Changes just crashed into Ivan and Yao's lives like one tidal wave after another, and they didn't have the time to take a breath and assess.

After about two months of being wandering vagabonds, they managed to find jobs working at a little diner on the north side of town. The manager had been looking for a few strong hands, and they fit that profile perfectly.

Eventually, they saved enough money to rent an apartment that was just down the street from their workplace. There was only one bedroom, and the ceiling hung so lowly that Ivan could barely fit inside. There was a small living room, and a tiny kitchen. A bathroom with a toilet and tub, and a roof to top it all off, to protect them from the elements. It wasn't much, but to two war-torn, life-worn men, it was heaven.

Working at the diner was a breeze compared to the treacherous daily routines they had been forced to undergo as soldiers. Yao assisted the chef in the kitchen, and when the chef retired after a few months, Yao got to take his place. Because cooking had always been a devoted hobby of his, Yao actually found grilling burgers, hotdogs, and preparing other heart-attack inducing foods rather enjoyable.

Ivan tended the restaurant bar at nights, pouring drinks and trying to make small talk to people who were too drunk to care about his terrible English.

Working at the diner not only helped Ivan and Yao reap in capital, it also introduced them to a group of people that had changed their lives. For the better or worse, they didn't know.

First was Francis Bonnefoy, the waiter. He had an entertaining, though somewhat smutty sense of humour, but was generally a good person to be around. Francis introduced them to his friends, Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland, who, like Ivan and Yao, were also veterans of the Great War.

They seemed to like having Ivan and Yao around, and were kind enough to show them around town. Ivan was relieved that when his American friends came to visit their home, they never asked why the two men lived under the same roof, and shared a bed.

The group always met during or after work, and whenever else they could. They spent their days off at the beach, attending what the Americans called "parties", and driving around the city in Alfred's dilapidated Jeep, which didn't even look like it was made in this century.

As the months went by, Ivan had begun to believe that the sky had finally become clear and blue for their path ahead. Or perhaps it was only an illusion, a product of Ivan's deep, desperate yearning for a brighter tomorrow, cocktailed with the sweet, citrus-scented drinks that his friend's had made him pour down his throat every night.

But, no matter what kinds of adventures the group went on each week, it was always their top priority to meet at the diner on Wednesday evenings—

The tacky-looking plastic clock on the wall read nine in the evening, and Ivan and Yao had just finished their shifts. They were sitting in a booth by the corner, and everyone except Ivan had been chatting non-stop for the past hour.

Yao was sitting beside him, absorbed in conversation with Arthur. Francis was also talking animatedly with Alfred about something Ivan didn't really care for, not that they seemed eager to include Ivan in conversation in the first place.

Everywhere they went, it seemed like people always easily warm up to Yao, while they would just shove Ivan in the corner. To be honest, Ivan didn't know whether to feel pride or jealousy towards him.

He stared down at the still full shot glass that had laid untouched for all this time. Ivan shrugged coolly, tossed his head back, and dumped it all down. He shivered not at the burn, but at how bad liquor tasted, once it crossed the Pacific Ocean.

"Ivan! Look at yourself!" Came a hiss from beside him.

Ivan turned to see Yao giving him a scolding glare at the mess he had made. Yao shook his head, bunched his sleeves, and wiped clean Ivan's dripping chin.

Ivan smiled at him apologetically. He had been used to drinking right from the bottle, after all.

Sadly, Ivan was only able to grasp his friend's attention for a short while, as Yao saw slipped back into conversation with Arthur after seeing that Ivan could fend well on his own.

Growling under his breath, Ivan put his head on the table, and decided to take a nap. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past few days, waking up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache and drenched in sweat. He figured he better stop staying out so late with these crazy people, and in the meanwhile, convince Yao to do the same.

But, just as Ivan was about to fall asleep, he felt another, more annoying person call his name.

"Hey Ivan!" He yelled, shaking the other man's elbow, trying to wake him up, "Ivan, Ivan!"

Ivan groaned inwardly. He disliked Alfred more than anyone else in the group for reasons he couldn't exactly place, and to his luck, it was his voice buzzing about his ear right now like a noisy fly.

"What do you want?" He growled, prying his eyes open to see Alfred flashing a bright, business-like grin at him. He was reading a magazine, though Ivan was surprised the idiot even knew how to read.

The blonde man was leaning back on the chair with his feet up on the table. Sipping his coke obnoxiously, Alfred replied, oblivious to Ivan giving him the _dulya_, "Got a question for you, sleepyhead. Seen this month's issue of Playboy yet?"

"No, not yet..." Ivan grumbled, massaging his temples. He wasn't really in the mood to talk about, of all things, skanky women.

"Well, here's something to cheer you up, buddy!" Alfred flipped back to one of the pages, and stuffed in the other man's face a picture of a brunette lady with a wide bust and high heels.

Though Ivan was pondering the idea of ripping the book right out of his hands and making Alfred's skull implode, he decided to sink to his seat instead, raising an eyebrow instead of his fist.

Then, almost unexpectedly, he caught a young woman in a navy blue dress staring at him from across the restaurant. She was sitting alone by the window, sipping her strawberry milkshake. Ivan smiled at her, and she turned away.

"What do you think of that darlin'? She's precious, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is..."

It took a moment for Ivan to realize that Alfred had been talking about picture number two.

Alfred shook his head and shrugged, and went back to flipping through the magazine. "What about her?"

"Yeah, sure..." Ivan mumbled absently. He had never been one for redheads. He just wanted this conversation to be over.

"You're a hard fellow to please, that's for sure..."

Still not impressed with his reaction, Alfred tapped his chin thoughtfully, and when a bright idea popped into his head, he turned to the cover, and a blonde woman with a bobbed haircut, tanned skin, and clear blue eyes appeared in front of Ivan.

"Then, what do you think about Amelia here? It's impossible to not get your boxers tied looking at this babe."

Ivan was really hoping he had a wet cloth and some rat poison on hand.

"Not much." He replied flatly.

Alfred pouted and made a face. "Come on dude," he whined, "don't tell me you're queer or something..."

"I'm not!" Ivan roared. He pounded his fist on the table and shot up, "What the fuck made you think that?!"

"O-Okay man! Sorry, I just thought you might be, since none of the girls could turn you on... If you were, it's not like we would care..." Alfred squeaked, his teeth chattering.

Ivan turned and strode out of the booth, leaving everyone else silent, perplexed, and a little disturbed. Before he knew it, Ivan was sitting at the table in front of the woman with whom he had locked eyes earlier.

Everyone else the table was snickering at him except for Yao, who stayed still and silent, the expression on his face completely unreadable, even to Ivan.

Deciding not to dwell upon it anymore, Ivan turned to the woman, and was about to say something in apology. But, she gladly seized her chivalric rights and went first.

"Hello, I was thinking when you'd come here to visit me," she said, batting her eyelashes, as her sapphire-blue eyes twinkled.

She spoke with a slight Russian accent, and her voice was smooth like velvet. She had a head of platinum-blonde hair that cascaded down to her shoulders, topped with a large white bow. Gold and diamonds decorated her fingers, and her nails were painted red. Ivan thought looked like a daughter from a rich family, who hadn't gone hungry for a day in her life.

"Um..." Ivan didn't know how to respond. He almost felt unworthy to be in her presence.

Tinkling laughter escaped through painted lips. "My name's Natalia," she said, holding out her hand, "Natalia Arlovskaya."

Ivan shook it gently, trying to not crush her fingers. "I-Ivan Braginsky." He sputtered. At the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred whistling at him from across the restaurant, and ignored it.

"So, you do speak Russian?" Natalia asked, resting her head against her elbow, and looking at him in mild interest.

"Y-Yes Miss, I do," Ivan responded, nodding, "I was born in... uh... Moscow, twenty or so years ago."

"Oh really? That's my hometown as well." She smiled thinly, and took another, more polite sip from her drink. "Braginsky..." She pondered, tapping her chin, "Hm, forgive me, but I don't recall that family name at all... Are you sure you're from Moscow?"

"Uh, yeah, you wouldn't know... We weren't very well-known." Ivan grumbled, looking down to his toes. He could feel his heart beginning to race.

"I see..." she said slowly, nodding to herself, "Well, our family, Arlovskaya, had lived under the wings of the Tsar for hundreds of years. Then, a century ago, my grandfather moved to Alaska, and our family had settled there ever since. I have never been to Russia in my life, and with what I hear on the radio all the time, I don't think I ever want to..."

She spared Ivan an icy blue glance. "So, Ivan, would you like to tell me about yourself?" She asked, resting her elbow on the table gracefully to convey interest.

Ivan gulped, and licked his lips. "Yes," he replied obediently, "I signed up for the army, and came here after the war was over."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah, pretty much..."

Natalia gave a chuckle. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Ivan smiled sheepishly, and scratched his head. He just wasn't used to talking about himself to anyone but Yao.

"Well, if you want, _I_ can tell you something about yourself ," she said, and gave him a playful wink.

"W-what?"

"Well, I know you're a brave man, Ivan."

"Um, h-how?" He could feel his face starting to redden, up to the roots of his ears.

"Out of all of your friends at the table who wanted to talk to me, you were the only one that actually came. It takes real courage to do so, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

As flattered as he was by Natalia's comment, Ivan was trying to convince himself to believe that she was telling the truth. _Was he a brave man?_ To be honest, Ivan was scared to ask himself that question.

He turned his head, and saw that Yao had gone back to talking with his friends, and wasn't even looking at Ivan anymore.

"I like brave men, Ivan," Natalia continued, "and I would like to see you again, if that's not too much trouble."

She stood up, dusted her dress off, and slid a napkin across the table to him.

"I shall talk to you soon," she said with a certain masterful conviction, like she already had the calculated outcome laying on front of her.

She blew Ivan a kiss, and before he could stop her, Natalia was already strutting to the exit, her red high heels clicking against the restaurant's dirty floorboards.

Ivan waited until the hem of her dress had slipped past the closing doors, and looked down on his table.

It was her phone number.

* * *

"_Y-Yao, I had been meaning to ask you. Did you ever think it was a mistake for us to have come to America?"_

_Ivan waited and waited, but no answer came. His vision was becoming fuzzier by the second, but he knew that Yao was still right next to him. He could feel him, feel his warmth, and hear Yao's beating heart in his ears. _

_Yao took the other man's hand, and squeezed it as tightly as he could. Ivan had faded away to the point where could no longer feel his own pain, the pain in his lover's eyes was clear to him as as daylight. Ivan reached a finger up, and wiped away the glistening tear that slid down Yao's cheek. _

"_No, I don't think it was a mistake, Ivan," Yao whispered, "Even if so, it was the best mistake I had ever made."_

**TBC**

* * *

I will finish this before school starts, I tell myself.

As usual, if you liked, **please review**! The drama will happen next chapter. I hope the pace of the story is quick enough for you guys. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Yup, here's another update.

Enjoy!

* * *

Two days later, Ivan finally mustered the courage to call Natalia back and ask her out on a date. From then on, Ivan's answering machine became flooded with messages from her, despite that they spoke on the phone at least five times a day. Ivan didn't know whether to feel flattered, or be concerned.

But then again, he was thankful he got to spend time with Natalia, as there wasn't much to do at home on his days off. Ever since Yao had to pick up extra hours to save money for college, Ivan had been spending his days drinking or taking walks around the park alone. He didn't like to stray too far from his house when Natalia wasn't around. His English wasn't too good, and people gave him disgusted looks when he walked down the street by himself.

Luckily, Natalia seemed to be fond of him enough to call constantly. When Ivan asked her about it, she said that she actually had dozens of other people on the list for potential suitors, but she still chose Ivan.

Natalia took Ivan to the movies at least once a week, which were... interesting experiences, since the only cinema he had ever been exposed to were army instructional videos on how to man a tank. Though Ivan was never fond of the romance flicks he had been forced to sit through, he still sat through them, quietly, to be the pillow for her head to rest on.

Other times, they went to the beach. Natalia sunbathed with a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and a Barbie martini in hand, while Ivan sat in the shade, as his mere presence made sure that no one stepped within a five-feet radius of them.

Ivan didn't mind, though. He was fine with doing whatever Natalia wanted, as long as he could get out of his apartment, which became eerily quiet during the days. Even going shopping with her seemed like a brighter alternative than staying at home when Yao wasn't around. Besides, Ivan felt it was his duty to be her protector when Natalia went down the darker alleys of San Francisco for clothes. Though, Natalia would always manage to turn him from a bodyguard to a human coat rack.

* * *

The group, plus Natalia, were sitting in a booth in the diner an hour before closing time. The greasy, dusty ceiling fan above squeaked and rattled as it spun, but no one paid attention to it. They were all staring at the beautiful woman in front of them, their minds probably wondering how could a shabby guy like Ivan could have gotten someone like her on his arm.

Ivan figured he should step forward with an official introduction. He cleared his throat and said, "Everyone, this is my... uh..." She shot him a frigid, commanding glare, "..._girlfriend,_ Natalia."

Everyone looked to each other, and smiled awkwardly. Francis even gestured a slight wave.

Ivan frowned, wondering if something was wrong.

Setting aside the razor-sharp, sinister grin she wore, Natalia's eyes surveyed across the faces of the men sitting around her, and spoke, her Russian accent thicker than usual, "It was a pleasure meeting all of you tonight."

The others nodded solemnly and silently in agreement. Arthur took the burning cigarette that Francis was nervously chewing in his mouth, and slammed it into the ash tray.

She turned to Ivan. "Ivan, darling, didn't you say that you had four friends? I only see three before me right now."

Alfred cut in, "O-Oh! Yao's in the kitchen ma'am, his shift won't be over until five more minutes..." He looked at his watch, and back at Ivan. "Hey buddy, uh... We gotta run. A good band's playing. You want in?"

Ivan turned to Natalia hopefully. "Do you want to go?"

The dreaded prospect of her meeting Yao was really beginning to brew in his stomach, and if he must, he'd rather listen to noisy Western music.

"No," she answered flatly, raising a thin, penciled eyebrow, "I want to say 'hi' to your fourth friend, darling, if you don't mind."

"No... Not at all..."

The other guys were more than eager to leave the diner, and Francis even shivered and rubbed his arms as he made towards the exit.

Yao popped out from the kitchen doors a few minutes later, muttering angry things to himself in Chinese, and patting the last bits of shredded cheese off his apron. He looked up and saw the pair, and his face fell.

Walking over to them, Yao mustered a bright, service-industry smile that seemed to have convinced Natalia, but not Ivan. "Hey guys!" He said, waving, "How did you find the time to visit me here?" He took a seat in front of the couple.

"I thought we'd drop by before you closed, Natalia wanted to meet you," Ivan replied, trying to sound as humble as possible.

Yao turned to Natalia and was about to open his mouth, but was interrupted by her, who began speaking in Russian all of a sudden, "So, you're Yao, correct? Ivan's told me so much about you."

"Yes, and you're Natalia?" Yao switched languages effortlessly, albeit with a bit of an oriental accent, "It's good to meet you." He took out his hand, and Natalia shook it.

Natlia pursed her lips, as her eyes rolled across Yao's body, examining him like a specimen. She look back at herself, and began twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

"I heard you and Ivan are good friends," Natalia said, and rolled her tongue around in her mouth uneasily, "How long have you known him?"

"Six, seven years, ma'am," was Yao's calm, collected answer, "We were in the army together."

She chuckled politely, and held herself closer to Ivan's arm, "Then you must know better than anyone how good of a man my Ivan is," she said, as she reached a hand to caress his face. Ivan smiled apologetically at Yao, and gently let her hand down.

"Yes, I know," Yao replied, apparently undaunted in the least, "I think he would make a great pair with you."

Natalia nodded. "I'm thankful of your wishes, Yao. I'm sure we'll be happy together, right Ivan?"

Ivan nodded slowly, and before he got a chance to open his mouth, Natalia had lurched forward, tipped his chin, and pressed her lips to his.

Not that he had ever given it much thought, but Ivan had always wanted his first kiss to be with a pretty girl, who tasted good and smelled nice. Now that his wish had come true, Ivan didn't feel proud of himself at all. He felt ashamed.

Ivan's half-lidded eyes rolled over to Yao, who had closed his eyes and turned away. As Natalia chewed on Ivan's lip, trying to deepen their kiss, Yao chewed on his own, as if he was trying to withhold bringing something up in conversation.

The rest of the night was spent with Natalia and Yao talking about Ivan, with him still present in the booth.

"Well, it has been quite the... experience speaking with you today, Yao," Natalia finally said, after an hour. "Are there anything else I need to know about Ivan here?" She asked, patting him playfully on the arm.

Yao chuckled to himself. "No, other than the fact that the guy is good as dead in the mornings without his mug of black coffee and a cigarette in his mouth, right Ivan?"

The other man laughed nervously, and put his arm around his girlfriend. "Yeah, you're very funny, Yao."

The only person who hadn't laughed was Natalia.

"It's getting late," she said, standing up, "and my ride is coming in five minutes. It has been an enjoyable timw with the both of you, and I shall see you soon, Ivan." She bent down, and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek.

"Do you want me to wait outside with you?"

"No," Natalia replied curtly. Grabbing her purse, she strutted out the door, leaving Ivan and Yao hanging in an awkward silence.

* * *

"Yao! Wait up!"

It had begun to rain, but Yao still did not slow down. He didn't have an umbrella, and Ivan had been trying to chase after him with his trenchcoat.

"Yao, are you upset with me?"

"What was your first clue?!" He snapped.

"But we barely talked this week at all," Ivan tried to explain, "How would I know what made you so mad if you never talk to me?"

Ivan thought he had an idea of why his friend was so upset, but prayed that his assumption was wrong.

Yao shook his head. "It's nothing." He muttered, and put his arm around the other man's waist. "Come on Ivan, let's go home."

They made it back to their apartment after ten silent minutes, and climbed upstairs to the second floor. It took a few seconds for Ivan to gather himself together, and afterwards, he opened the door with a click.

He tossed the key into the bowl, and waited for Yao to settle onto the sofa before shutting the door. Ivan walked over and sat next to him, and propped his feet on the coffee table.

Taking a deep breath, Ivan began, "Yao, remember when we were on the front, and heard that those two guys got shot? Afterwards, you told me that, well," He gulped grimly, "you know..."

"Don't flatter yourself." Yao cut in coldly, "I got over that a long time ago. Don't think you can sweep _everyone _off their feet, Ivan."

He stood up, and walked to the bathroom without looking back.

Ivan figured if Yao didn't want to discuss it right now, he'll settle for some other time. Hopefully, they would never have to talk about it again.

That night, they slept with their backs to each other. It was the first time they had ever done that since they came to America.

* * *

Like all of the rows they'd ever had, Ivan and Yao made up eventually, and everything went back to normal. Months passed by, and the warm, tropical winds turned bitter. Though the winters in southern California were a joke compared to the ones in his home, Ivan was still sad to see the green leaves wither, and the wonderful sunny days shorten. It did not help that Yao had been going to college since September, which meant, he was at home even less to keep Ivan company. Everything was happening so quickly, and to Ivan, there was never any time to breathe or think about what he had to deal with day in and day out.

Now, Ivan had taken on the role of the housekeeper. He cleaned and cooked their dinners on his days off, which, at first, had been an ordeal. The fact that Ivan knew how to drive a tank, but couldn't chop vegetables to save his life, somehow made him feel like less of a man.

But tonight was going to be special. He had the whole day to make their apartment spotless and prepare a warm dinner for when Yao got home. When Ivan had told him that the only thing he knew how to make in the kitchen were burnt perogies, Yao laughed, slapped him upside the head, and gave him a five-hour long lesson of how to whip up a few basic Chinese dishes. Today, he managed to make them all without setting the apartment on fire, and they were now sitting on the dinner table, warm, steaming, and waiting for Yao to come.

Ivan sighed and rolled onto the couch in exhaustion. He peeled off Yao's soiled pink apron that he had on, and tossed it off to the side. Smacking his lips together lazily, Ivan closed his eyes, and allowed himself to slip out of consciousness.

Because Yao kept on complaining about how they don't get to see each other anyone, Ivan had planned the whole night just for them. They were going to have dinner, and spend the rest of their time over wine, watching their new black and white TV that their neighbor had thrown out.

He had woken an hour later to see that Yao was still not home. Ivan became worried, because Yao was one of the most punctual people he knew.

Stumbling up to the window, Ivan whisked the curtains back and took a peek outside, and squinted at the stinging sunlight. He looked down and finally spotted Yao standing beside their building, sporting his cheesy-looking school attire. There was also another person standing beside him that Ivan didn't recognize, wearing a pearl-white, multi-million dollar smile on his face. They were getting awfully close with each other, standing face-to-face, laughing, and holding hands. Ivan scowled.

The culprit had brown, curly hair, and was tall in height. Not as tall as Ivan, of course, maybe Francis. Though he hated to admit it, the man was quite handsome. But then again, handsome meant nothing, if his head could be bashed into pieces with Ivan's bare fist.

Just as they were wrapping up their conversation, Yao stepped on his tiptoes, and kissed the guy on the cheek. It was like what Yao used to do to Ivan when he made him happy about something. Apparently, it had been a long time since he made Yao happy about anything.

The door clicked open. "Hey Ivan!" Came Yao's bright voice. He dashed up to the other man, apparently oblivious to the borderline murderous glower on his face, and swept him into a tight hug.

"You miss me?" Yao said, punching him in the arm.

Ivan shrugged listlessly. He couldn't help but feel that Yao was faking his cheerfulness. In fact, maybe Yao had faked being Ivan's friend all along.

"Oh I know you did," Yao doted before the other could answer, "Come on, let's see what poisonous concoction you whipped up for dinner!"

They dined on the cold dishes that Ivan had not bothered to heat up. Yao seemed to be fine with it, mumbling compliments with food in his mouth, which Ivan only managed a taut smile as a response.

Finally, just as Ivan was about to finish his bowl of rice, he finally decided to confront him. He set his bowl on the table, stabbed his fork in, and looked up at Yao.

"You want to talk about something?" Yao asked first.

"Who was that person you were just with?"

_There was no way Yao could get away with it now_, Ivan thought. There was nothing he could have said to make Ivan unsee what he had just seen. Ivan didn't really know what he ultimately wanted Yao to come clean about, or why he was upset in the first place. But all he knew was that he wanted there to be no secrets between them. He wanted Yao to tell him everything.

"Oh, a friend from school," Yao replied pleasantly, and placed a slice of chicken on his tongue, not allowing himself to be intimidated in the least.

"Then what were you two doing down there?" Ivan demanded, like a father would to his misbehaving daughter.

Yao poured Ivan a shot of liquor, and some for himself as well.

"You mean the kiss? Well, isn't that what you Europeans do all the time?" He asked, smirking.

He raised the shot glass to his lips and took not the whole thing, but a small sip— an action he knew very well would made the other man seethe.

Ivan, on the other hand, took that as an excuse to turn what was a slight irritation into infernal rage.

It took all of the strength he could muster for Ivan to suppress this roaring desire to just break their dining table in half and launch himself upon Yao. But, over and over again Ivan told himself that no matter how much his blood boiled, Yao was still his most important person in the world, and would always be. Therefore, must protect him from harm at all costs, even from himself.

"You want to watch some TV?"

Ivan gulped, as if to swallow the anger back into his gut. "Yes."

* * *

Whew, more and more drama. Did you enjoy this chapter? Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry bros, this one took a little longer to update. I got into a new fandom, and am in the early obsession stage with it. Got a new favourite character and an otp and everything.

The next few chapters will be really really sad. I think I have 3 more chapters to go after this one. Then, it's back to updating Lotophagi regularly again.

So busy.

Oh did I mention, school starts on Thursday. Yipee...

* * *

These days, Ivan honestly didn't know why he bothered leaving his house anymore, other than for his shifts at the diner. He had a lot of chores to do around the house, a lot more than what he had signed up for. Since it was college exam time, Yao had been coming home less and less, and when he did, he just collapsed onto their bed and fell asleep, expecting a squeaky-clean apartment and hot breakfast when he woke up two hours later.

But tonight was a little different. The gang had decided to randomly show up at their doorstep, and dragged Ivan and Yao to this new trendy nightclub. They kept on saying how Yao was all work and no play, and even though he was the one most likely to become a rocket scientist, they still needed to find him a girlfriend. Just like that, Ivan and Yao stumbled into yet another awkward social event they couldn't wait to get out of.

Fake, cheery tunes tinkled out of the jukebox by the corner, and to Ivan's luck, he ended up having to sit next to the accursed machine. Ivan had never like music to begin with, and preferred clean silence over sounds of any sort.

Ivan's social apathy didn't seem to sit well the guy sitting beside him, Roma, who Ivan had come to know was the name of Yao's new friend. Shuffling over to Ivan's sulking corner, he patted Ivan on the arm friendly, and said, "Hey birthday boy, cheer up, eh?"

Ivan looked at him. "I know."

He didn't needed to be reminded that today was his birthday.

"Yeah, Roma, you don't know Ivan enough," Alfred interrupted all of a sudden, "When the guy's in a bad mood, he's in for good. No one can get him out of the dumps except for himself... Or maybe Yao..." Alfred winked at Ivan, "Right buddy?"

Ivan didn't spare him a response, and waited until Alfred became uncomfortable enough to finally look away.

From the first time Ivan saw him, he had always viewed Roma as a threat. Roma seemed too good to be true— always in a cheerful mood, treating everyone like friends. There had to be more to him than what met the eyes, Ivan told himself. He didn't trust this new guy at all, especially not around Yao, from whom the ingrate had failed to take his eyes off all night. They talked and laughed, and it galled Ivan that the first time Yao smiled in weeks, was when he was with Roma.

If Ivan knew anything, it would be who his enemies were.

Ivan hadn't gotten to talk to Yao at all since they got here, thanks to this... obstacle sitting beside them. He could easily get rid of him, and the only reason why he hadn't was because he didn't want to get Yao mad.

A new, more obnoxious song started playing out of the jukebox.

"Aww yeah! I love this little number!"

"Me too!" Roma added, and started dancing, along with Alfred, onto the centre floor. They joined Francis, who had his hands around the waist of a good-looking girl, as well as Arthur, who was just standing beside the couple with a grumpy look about his face.

Yao took the chance to slide over to Ivan. "Hey," He whispered, looking up at him worriedly, "Are you okay? You're really quiet tonight."

"I'm fine." He replied without looking at the other man. He didn't need Yao's sympathy.

"Do you want to go home then?" Yao asked, resting his hand on Ivan's, which he immediately took away. He looked around, and saw that they were safely the only ones in the booth now.

"Hey Yao, wanna dance with me?" Roma asked, holding out his hand and gave a ridiculous, old-world bow.

"Um, no thanks, not now," Yao replied, blushing. Turning to Ivan, he patted him on the arm and asked worriedly, "You want me to buy you a drink?"

"Come on Yao, the song's almost over..."

"Then I'll pass." Yao answered calmly, " Please leave us alone, Roma. "

Roma but shrugged and walked away.

Yao sighed. Even the prospect of free alcohol had failed to coax a reaction out of Ivan. Leaning over, he whispered into the other's ear, "He's gone now. Do you want to talk about it?"

Ivan flinched slightly from hot breath being blown against his neck, but managed to gather up a cogent response. "Follow me," he ordered Yao. He stood up and marched to the bathroom hall on the other side of the room, as Yao tagged along without question, with softer, more measured footsteps.

Ivan flickered back the curtains and ushered Yao into the shadows. The stall smelled of urine and old perfume, but at least they were alone now. Yao had his back against the wall, with Ivan standing before him. He remained in dignified silence, brown eyes narrowing expectantly at the man in front of him, waiting for Ivan to start the conversation.

Ivan let out a roar, and thrusted his own two hands against the grimy, graffiti-stained wall, trapping Yao in between. The smaller man didn't even flinch, his face a blank pane, while Ivan panted raggedly, like there wasn't enough rancid air in the whole club to satisfy his lungs.

Ivan's eyes rolled down Yao's body, his sharply-bladed shoulders, his lean, narrow hips, and to the tips of those neatly polished black shoes. The other man shirked uncomfortably at the scrutiny, and began looking around.

_You can't escape now_, Ivan kept on telling himself, over and over again. He had fist-fought with Yao many times, and knew very well that with his own sheer strength, he could make the other man's puny bones crumple into grains of sand.

The sound of a toilet flushing came from behind the walls, followed by the irritating, though familiar clicking of high heels against the wooden floor. Like the ones that Natalia wore all the time.

Ivan looked back at Yao. They didn't have much time left.

But he didn't want to leave yet, nor to budge an inch from where he stood. Yao felt so warm, being pressed beneath him. Ivan could feel every rise and fall of the smaller man's chest against his own, and if he pulled Yao even closer, he could even hear every pant and hush escaping through his lips. Ivan feared that if he stepped a toe out of line, or bat his eyes once, then whatever they had right here, right now, would disappear right in front of his eyes.

Inadvertently, Ivan took Yao's hand and meshed their fingers together. Yao didn't pull himself free, but instead closed his eyes wearily as Ivan buried his face into his neck. "You're not to see him again, do you understand me?" He growled.

Yao smelt like the cologne he had recently started wearing, mixed with sweat, fresh laundry, and— as Ivan took a deeper breath— the cigarette he had this morning.

"You don't own me, Ivan."

* * *

On the outskirts of town, beside an open cliff, an expensive-looking car was parked dangerously close to the edge. Moonlight basked upon the newly painted black surface, making it gleam.

Two shadowy figures rose from behind the tinted windows, and Natalia dared to speak first.

"How was it?" She asked lazily, running a finger down Ivan's bare chest, making him shiver from her sharp nails.

Ivan hummed in agreement, and wrapped his arms around her stiffly. He ran his fingers idly through Natalia's slightly damp hair, and pressed his lips onto her forehead.

"Vanya, I've already given you everything I have." she added, blushing, "So you better take responsibility." she pouted, "Don't leave me, okay?"

Ivan had always known that the girls in the west were not as reserved as the ones back home. But he never would have thought they would go as far as Natalia did, despite that she was from a very reputable family. They weren't even married, and they just...

"I won't, Natalia."

At least she didn't complain about how inexperienced he was. When he was in the army, everyone else would jump upon any opportunity to speak with, touch, or take a short gander at the army nurses, while he and Yao just stayed behind and did their training like honourable soldiers.

"Well, the truth is, the past year I've spent with you was the happiest I've ever been in my whole life." She reached over, took his hand, and gently unfurled his stubborn fingers so she could fit hers in between.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," Natalia said finally, smiling to herself.

Ivan gulped. "I-In love?" To be honest, he didn't have any idea what that even meant, which he found even more intimidating.

Natalia could hear that his heart was pounding quicker, and giggled. "Why are you so nervous around me, Vanya?" She asked in playful innocence, "You are always so stoic, and never tell me anything! Do you not like me anymore?"

"Oh no!" Ivan said quickly, having been defeated by her watery eyes and batting eyelashes, "W-What do you want to talk about then?"

"You know, your life, what you have been up to lately..."

"Well, there isn't much going on with my life right now... I just stay at home all the time, and just the other day, Yao—"

Ivan's scalp prickled at the sight of his girlfriend's sharp blue eyes narrowing into a frigid glare.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about that... that _sly little fox_!" She screeched, sitting up, "He's all you ever talk about! Yao this, Yao that, I thought you were in love with _me_!"

"I do love you, Natalia!" Ivan said before he could stop himself, just so she would calm down. "Only you," he added, gulping, and took the opportunity to plant a deep kiss on her frowning lips.

For Ivan, women were harder to read than a book.

"I don't believe you." She squinted, her arms crossed.

"Why not? I would never lie..."

"_Because_," she huffed, "We've been dating for a whole year now, and you haven't asked me to marry you yet! Who am I to you, Ivan Braginsky?! Some whore that you can throw out after you've sucked me dry?!"

Tears were flooding out of her eyes and down her heavily powdered face.

Seeing Natalia like this frightened him more than anything he had ever seen. In his mind, women were strong creatures, stronger than men, at least. To had made one cry, Ivan thought he must did something really horrendous, even if he didn't understand exactly what it was.

"I'll marry you, Natalia. Please... Just don't cry, okay?"

Well, at least then there would be no reason why people should call Ivan a fag anymore.

* * *

"Hey Yao, I have something to tell you."

"What is it, Ivan?" He asked, turning around. Ivan quickly grabbed him by the arm so Yao wouldn't slip on the black ice. A bleak, grey awning of clouds hovered over the January skies, and had been for weeks on end.

"...I'm getting married."

A breath of icy wind whistled through Ivan's ears, which had already been numbed by the hours of standing in frosty air without a hood on. He's Russian; he could take the cold.

"...You are... getting married?" Yao repeated.

Ivan nodded.

His heart felt like it was going to shatter into thousands of pieces, when Yao's eyes began to swell with a certain unspoken sadness. Ivan reached out a thumb to caress the side of his friend's face, wiping away the tears before they even fell.

What Yao said back barely came out as a trembling whisper. "Well, good for you then."

Ivan smiled half-heartedly and tried to explain, but realized nothing he could say now would make the ugly frown on Yao's face fade away.

Yao said after a while, "Well, you have been dating her for a long time, and it would be wrong for you to not marry her. So, I'm glad you're doing the right thing, Ivan."

Ivan couldn't sense the faintest, thinnest undercurrent of passion, warmth in his wedding congratulations. They were an empty gesture, out of politeness. It felt as if Yao had been talking into an old dusty microphone.

Ivan shook his head, and shackled his arms around his friend's waist, pulling him into an embrace. Yao began to sob uncontrollably into his jacket, scrunching the fabric in his fists. Ivan couldn't bear to push him away.

"Yao, everyone would have to get married sometime. You will have to get married someday too, but we'll still be friends, always. The only difference is that we can't sleep on the same bed anymore... Which is no big deal, right?"

"Ivan, all I want to know is if you're going to be happy."

He kissed him on the forehead. "Of course, Yao, I'm very happy." He answered, not sure where in his funny little head he could have picked up such a random, silly question.

Yao's gaze didn't falter, large, soulful eyes continued to stare into Ivan, as if wanting to see something that wasn't there, something that Ivan couldn't even see.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ivan answered again, despite himself. When he did, he could barely recognize his own voice.

* * *

Okay, the next chapter should be posted soon. Just as a warning, I'm going to up the rating.

I didn't plan on it, but it seems like having sex scenes really speaks to the public more than just plain old plot. To be honest, I don't like writing them. But if you guys like them, why not? :D I promise it won't be too explicit to ruin the momentum of the story though.

Next one's super long to make up for the shorter one this time.


	8. Chapter 8

Borrowed a scene in this story from this BBT one I had written a year ago. The whole story's kind of based upon it anyways, so...

**Oh and warning, I upped the rating just for this chapter, and the smut won't be pretty. **

* * *

Truthfully, the week of wedding preparations had all been a blur to Ivan, even though he could clearly recall the distinct memories of all that had happened. It felt as if he had slept through the whole week, and had been dreaming.

Natalia dragged him out everyday for shopping. Also, to get his approval for her dress, their seating and room rentals, and even the colour of the napkins.

He came home late every night, no earlier than 3' o clock in the morning, and he would be expected back at Natalia's house at seven. It wasn't Natalia's fault though. She sent him home every day quite early to make sure her Vanya got enough beauty sleep, so he'd look bright and beautiful when their big day came. But, it was Ivan who didn't want to go home. Instead, he chose to take listless walks around the neighborhood, or stayed until he was kicked out of the local coffee shop.

Ever since Yao had left, probably to live with his boyfriend, Ivan had been suffering from insomnia. His mind just wouldn't let him slip off into slumber knowing that only the cold, empty bed sheets were next to him now.

Sometimes when Ivan was laying alone on their bed, his accursed mind would wonder about the kinds of things Yao and Roma were doing together, this late at night. It didn't take a genius to figure out the physical mechanics of the disgraceful process, even if Ivan had only ever done it with a woman.

Though, as much as the thoughts made Ivan gag, at least Yao existed in them. Somehow, it made him feel better, and a little less lonely.

To make things seem more real, Ivan would lay on Yao's side of the bed, as he tried to extract his friend's distinct, unmistakable scent from between every last thread in his pillowcase.

_Yao's finally here_— That's what his mind was trying to get him to believe, even if only for a few seconds.

* * *

The bachelor party was two days before the wedding, and the only reason Ivan showed up was to see Yao for the first time in days. He sat impatiently through the meal, and waited for everyone to get intoxicated enough before walking up to Yao, and of course, Roma. They were standing by the punch bowl, arm-in-arm, smiling and whispering things into each other's ears.

Ivan wondered why no one in the room said anything to the two men, who were getting disgustingly, illegally close with each other.

_Was everyone blind? _

He swore that the real world would function so much more efficiently if they were to handle issues the same way they did in the military.

Ivan couldn't bring himself to come between them, and went home early. That night, he laid in bed, clutching Yao's pillow with such unnecessary, frightening strength that the cotton was about to burst through the seams. But in his head, Ivan was imagining the kinds of things he wanted to do with Yao in bed.

Yes, it was wrong beyond belief, but at least it would feel good, when Yao was finally, rightfully his?

As long as the thoughts were kept in Ivan's head, he would be safe. No one would ever know.

* * *

A few more days had passed with the blink of an eye, and Ivan soon found himself standing before a cracked bathroom mirror, two hours before the ceremony.

The lights on the ceiling buzzed with static, and flashed every few seconds due to the bad electrical wiring. Moths were fluttering up above, and water was dripping from the roof and into a bucket a few feet away.

Ivan thought it was best he didn't stay here for too long.

The door creaked slightly, and a voice echoed from across the long bathroom corridor. "Hey Ivan," Yao said, peeking his head into the room, "They want you upstairs now."

"I'll be there in a minute, Yao," He answered slowly, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"You've been crying." Yao stated, like an empirical fact.

"I don't cry," was Ivan's deadpan response.

Yao tsked, and walked up to him slowly, not breaking eye contact with him for a second, as Ivan stepped backwards timidly until he hit the dirty sink desk.

"You know, I'm really proud of you," Yao said fondly, dabbing at the sweat on Ivan's forehead with his sleeve, like how he always used to, "and you better treat her well, or you'll have to take it up with me. Understand?"

"Yes, I know," he grumbled, looking off to the side.

"Good." His lips curved into a rosy smile, as Ivan's spine stiffened.

Yao reached into his coat pocket, and took out a thin ivory comb. He unscrewed the tap, making the water trickle evenly into the sink below. He ran his fingers down it, and slathered some water on Ivan's hair. Ivan just stood there, as the other man began to re-sculpt his head from the frustrating mess it had been.

"Ivan, I just want you to know that I'll be happy as long as you are..."

Staying silent, Ivan reached his hand up to the other man's face.

Yao's skin felt soft, as if he had been using the face lotion that Natalia did. Ivan was careful not to mar the delicate, pristine surface with his own fingertips. Everything Ivan touched, he ruined. He had the hands of a man, but the eyes of a child.

"And from now on, you better treat Natalia like a goddess, got it?"

The man standing before Ivan wasn't just handsome, he was beautiful, even with a tear in his eye, like something injured and fragile that was waiting to be cuckholded.

"W-What's wrong?" Ivan whispered, his thumb wiping the tear off Yao's cheek.

Yao but took the other man's hand down from his face. Tiptoeing up to Ivan, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"Yao, what are you doing?"

"Something I've been wishing to do for a long, long time..." He mumbled, pink cheeks beginning to turn violently scarlet. Taking a big breath, Yao leaned over, and as he did, Ivan could see stars glittering from beneath hooded, chocolate-brown eyes.

_He's going to kiss me_, Ivan thought to himself, over and over again. He didn't protest, but just stayed put where he was, waiting for what was to come.

But, it never came.

Yao unwrapped himself from Ivan, turned around, and before Ivan could spin him right back and smack their lips together, he walked away.

"You better hurry up Ivan, they're still waiting for the groom."

* * *

All throughout the ceremony, Ivan could only think about the kiss that never happened. When the priest said he could kiss his bride, Ivan did with the same ferocity as if he had slammed a punch in her mouth.

Though Ivan hadn't bothered to look at the clock all night, and hadn't the merest sense of time past, he felt that the after-wedding party went tenfold more slowly than the ceremony. For what felt like hours on end, Ivan had his stiff arm around Natalia's waist, and together they waltzed from one corner of the heels-scraped wooden dance floor to the other. Having had little experience with courting a lady to dance, Ivan imagined he must had made many fatal blunders in his footwork that Natalia was so kind to overlook.

Natalia's family had hired a live band to play, and provided a banquet of sizeable hors d'œuvres. Much to Natalia's dismay, Ivan's eyes had been flicking over to the food ever since they started dancing, when his eyes should have been glued to his gorgeous new wife in a snow-white wedding gown.

Actually, Ivan felt too sick to eat, but it was Yao who had been standing by the table, tossing deviled egg after deviled egg onto his plate.

Yao was a stress eater, how could Ivan forget?

Natalia said that she wanted them to find an ordinary apartment together in the outskirts of town, and finally settle down. She had always wanted a family of her own, because she was tired of her father controlling her life all the time.

"You're the most important man in my life now," she told him, looking over and smirking at her scowling father.

Natalia reminded him over and over again that she loved Ivan with all her heart, as if it was something Ivan would be quick to forget. Ivan could only give half-hearted, empty responses, as his mind really couldn't think about anything else other than the other couple standing a few feet away.

When Yao had finally given to Roma the kiss he owed to another, Ivan wasn't angered, not even a bit. It was as if all the spite and jealousy that had been gurgling in his gut suddenly vanished into thin air. All that was left inside of him was a vacuum. He felt nothing at all.

In the back of his mind, Ivan's demons were screaming all the expletives in the book, commanding him to do something about it. But, Ivan felt he had no more strength to fight back against the indelible, stone-cast fate.

As long as Yao was happy, Ivan would be too, no matter how much it killed him to see them together.

Ivan had already promised to spend an ordinary, North American suburban life with Natalia. Besides, Roma was a good man, and could take better care of Yao than he ever could. They had so much more in common, and were perfect for eachother. Both were cheerful, kind people with big hearts. Roma had even offered to help the newlyweds move into their new home, despite Ivan's polite protests, and had sprained his back while doing so.

But, that did not stop Ivan from thinking about Yao all the time, even when he was in bed with his wife. He knew very well just how wrong it was to harbour these feeling for another man, especially amidst the tidings of a newborn marriage. But, Ivan figured that he would be safe, as long as he kept his thoughts chained and his lips locked.

Ivan was relieved that ever since he got married, the leering stares that random strangers shot at him, had finally been replaced with indifference, or when his wife was beside him, of admiration. The couple had comfortably settled into a routine, with the both of them going to work during the day, and spending the rest of the evening watching TV. It was kind of like what Ivan used to do with Yao, except that there was no Yao, and there would never be again.

Because she was working at the office for her father's company, Natalia reaped in three times more than Ivan's income. She had jokingly told Ivan to just stay home and look pretty, and not work anymore. After she said that, Ivan quit his job.

* * *

It had been a long day for Yao, having gone to class for six hours, and grocery shopping for two. It was Friday night, and his college friends had invited him for a dorm party, which he quickly declined. He was exhausted.

Ever since Yao realized he could no longer live under the same roof as Ivan, he managed to find a new, cheaper flat for himself, only a few blocks away. He couldn't stand to be too far from him, even if he was supposed to be mad at him. Roma did offer for them to move in together, but Yao had told him he would rather live alone.

It was what love did to a person, after all. Ivan had hurt him so many times, and yet, Yao would stomp his own pride to the ground and crawl back to him, knowing he would get hurt once more.

Roma had been a good boyfriend, but he wasn't the person Yao had once risked his life to save, and even to this day, would go to hell and back for. If he could, Yao would willingly spend all the time he had with Ivan.

Natalia was a lucky girl.

Nowadays, Ivan probably didn't even want Yao around anymore, and that was why Yao left. The last thing Yao wanted was to be the white elephant in his life. Natalia was beautiful, rich, and perfect in every single way, while Yao was just an ordinary human being.

But maybe, just maybe, Ivan would someday make the mistake of believing that Yao was the right one for him all along. So, he had decided to wait until that day when Ivan would come tumbling up to his doorstep, to sweep him off his feet, and promise to be with him forever.

Just as Yao was thinking about it, he heard a series of loud bangs on his door, and after he opened it, Ivan had done exactly that. Yao's slippers slipped off his feet and onto the floor, and along with the empty bottle of vodka from between Ivan's fingers.

"Let me go!" He shrieked, trying to kick himself free from the other man's stone-hard grip.

"No..." was what garbled out of Ivan's lips, about twenty seconds after Yao's remark. He tripped his feet all the way up to Yao's bedroom, while spinning them around, and even tackling into the concrete wall a few times like a pinball.

Yao leaned until he was centimetres away from the other man's face, and said, clearly and dangerously, "Put me down, Ivan. Now."

He pouted and stubbornly shook his head, his matted hair swinging back and forth like dog ears.

Ivan howled in pain, as Yao rammed his fist into his jaw, making his stumble back, hitting the bookcase. Yao fell onto the bed just in time to see a couple of his binders fall out, and one even bounced off of Ivan's head. Ivan wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and his lips curled up in a gleaming smirk, visible even from across the dark room.

Yao flinched.

Ivan staggered back to the edge of the bed, and towered over Yao's reproachful, shrinking form with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He dipped down and crushed their lips together, ignoring Yao's initial whining and squirming, which after a while, diminished down to a few helpless whimpers. Eventually, Yao slipped his tongue into the other's mouth, meshing wet with wet, his white knuckles clutching onto the fabric of Ivan's shirt.

Yao's head was swimming, flooding with euphoria, that he thought his skull was going to crack open. He had long imagined how Ivan would taste, and how it felt to be under his touch. Even though his tongue tasted like nothing but alcohol, and Ivan's arms felt like they were crushing his bones to dust, it was still... _him_.

Ivan sank his fangs into Yao's bottom lip, making beads of blood gush out. Yao hissed, and slapped him in the face, which didn't sober him up a bit. He pushed Yao against the damp, peeling wall, and pinned his arms above his head forcibly, almost twisting them out of their sockets. Yao attempted to kick him away, but to no avail. He gave up eventually, and hated himself for not wanting to fight back.

Ivan sucked and nibbled at the fresh wound, making Yao mumble from between purpling, swollen lips, "God damnit, you're hurting me..."

"Good." Ivan replied, before splattering wet, sloppy kisses onto Yao's bare neck and shoulders. His shirt didn't prove to be an obstruction, as they had been ripped right off long ago and tossed to the other corner of the room, before he even realized it.

His fingers dug into the other man's wrists, choking his arteries. Ivan's lips had moved down to pillage Yao's chest, leaving a trail of bruises, yanking and gnawing.

Though it was for all the wrong reasons, Ivan was making Yao hard. He was so handsome, even if he was dead drunk, and drooling from the corners of his mouth...

Ivan had let go of Yao's hands, making his wrists fall cold onto the mattress.

"You're finally mine, Yao, and no one else's, " Ivan said, and chuckled proudly to himself. "Turn over." He commanded.

"No."

Ivan growled, and flipped Yao's body like an office desk. He could only hug onto the bedpost for dear life as Ivan undid Yao's belt buckle, and pulled off his pants.

Ivan peeled his boxers down, and his mouth dove down between Yao's buttcheeks, eager tongue wetting his rim. Yao gasped in pleasure, and quickly bit his sore lips, trying to force himself to be as quiet. There was no way he'd let Ivan win without a fight.

Between his own thumping heartbeats, he heard the slight rustle of another zipper being undone. From the shadows on the wall, Yao saw that Ivan was impatiently pumping life into his member, and tossed his head back in pleasure. Reluctantly, Yao put his hands around his own, and began to pleasure himself, praying that Ivan would overlook his pathetic efforts.

_Stay by my side Yao, and I'll protect you... I won't let you get hurt, ever. _

When Ivan finally drove into him, Yao could not maintain his silence any longer, and let out a scream that was immediately muffled by Ivan's hand. He clutched the smaller man's hips, and plunged deeper and deeper, at an unforgiving pace that satisfied only himself.

Yao's limbs felt so heavy that he may as well be tied down with rope. He couldn't do anything, but just laid there as Ivan had his way. Damn Ivan, he probably had never done it with a guy before, and didn't know how much he was actually hurting him. Yao was sure that if Ivan wasn't so utterly drunk, he would be much gentler, more like how he had always wanted their first time to be. Yao buried his face into the pillow, so the other man wouldn't hear or see him cry.

But in the meanwhile, Yao could only force himself to a climax, as Ivan wouldn't assist him, and only wanted him to be in more pain. The other man came soon after, and pulled out, leaving Yao's backside aching, burning, pounding.

Yao crawled up to the bedstand and shut off the lamp. He pulled bed covers over himself, laid with his back to Ivan, and closed his eyes. He listened not to his own breathing, but to the cicadas singing outside, trying to grasp a coherent melody betwixt all the buzzing noise.

The sheets rustled, as Ivan shuffled closer to him.

"Yao," he said groggily, putting his arms around his waist, "I love you."

The warm winds from beneath the curtains hummed into Yao's ear. He smiled softly to himself, but said nothing.

"I love you so much," Ivan continued, his voice becoming frantic, "We could make this work, if you wanted to... Please..."

"Me too, Ivan. I always have," Yao could barely put his words together, his heart was pounding, and all the heat and colour were starting to rush back to his face. But, he stayed put, and didn't let himself to turn back and kiss the life out of him for the sake of dignity.

Ivan held him closer, his still wet member prodded against Yao's sticky thighs. He rested his chin on Yao's shoulder, and fell asleep soon in the blink of an eye, leaving Yao to listen to his light snoring directly in his ear.

Yao sighed to himself, and supposed he'd forgive him once more.

**TBC**

* * *

So yeah. Hope you liked reading it!

I'm kind of glad that I upped the rating. It seems like people are more willing to read a fic if it is M-rated for whatever reason...

There are 10 chapters in this story, so our journey is almost over. :) But, my journey in writing Rochu has just begun, as cheesy as it sounds. I plan to write this pairing for a long, long,_ long_ time.


	9. Chapter 9

I need to stop reading 50 shades of Grey. I have a fear that I may someday write like that.

**16 September 2012**- I am such a butt. Edited the story up to this point and tied some loose ends. Everything should seem a little more polished now.

* * *

Yao had woken up to an empty bed the next morning, though he didn't really expect otherwise.

Throughout the next few days, he received numerous phone calls from Ivan, uttering frantic, breathless apologies. Yao remained on the line silently until he could hear no more and hung up, and expected it to ring again in the next hour anyways.

He had already said numerous times that Ivan was forgiven, but Ivan wouldn't believe him.

After a few days, they saw each other again when Ivan took, this time, a sober midnight trip to Yao's apartment.

Solemnly, Yao took a deep breath and asked him how much of that night he could remember, to which Ivan replied truthfully, "not much." Then, urgently taking Ivan's hand, he asked again whether he could at least remember those promises he had made, and Ivan but sealed their fate with a kiss.

As with all things in life, Ivan was a little uncomfortable with their new romance at first. After he got married, the most romantic thing he did with his wife was going grocery shopping together. Thus, it took some time getting used to the concept of sharing a bath tub with Yao, with rose petals and mountains of soap bubbles floating in warm, steamy waters.

Hesitantly, Ivan slid the bath towel off his waist. He turned bright red when Yao stared at him with eyes wide like full moons. Ivan scratched his head bashfully and stepped into the tub with caution, trying not to displace the half a dozen candles lined up precariously over the porcelain ledge.

"Never knew you were into this kind of stuff," Ivan mused, crumpling a whole dried rose into his fist. He let the ashes fall into the water, which, thanks to the soap Yao put in there, now possessed a weird pink hue.

"Well, Roma really knew what he was doing, and showed me some tricks when we were together," Yao answered pleasantly, lighting the last candle and blowing out the match, "And I'll teach them all to you, with time..."

Ivan grit his teeth. "Where is he now? Are you still seeing that bastard?!" He demanded.

Yao but smirked, held out his hand, and blew, making a cloud of bubbles fly into Ivan's dead-serious face. Ivan scraped the intrusion off with a flat palm and glared at the other man, who fell back in giggles.

"I'm with you now, remember? I love Ivan, and only Ivan." He said after a while.

Ivan could only nod in defeat.

* * *

Ever since Natalia started complaining about there being a "foreign" smell on her bed sheets, and how Ivan had become so distant and passionless in their activities together, the new lovers could only spend time in Yao's apartment anymore.

It seemed like nothing could skip past Natalia's piercing blue eyes. Whenever Ivan was with Yao, he swore it felt like she was watching them, from behind the bedroom door, or through the silk curtains.

Just by running her newly groomed nails across Ivan's scalp, she could deduce that he had been using a different brand of shampoo from what she bought him. Natalia threatened him time and again to not go out too much, because she was supposed to be his everything. She paid for his food, and pretty much everything he had, and could very well make his whole world crumble.

Natalia had hit him many times already for non-compliance, and though Ivan never fought back out of principle, his patience was wearing thin.

So, Ivan decided the best thing was to not take his boyfriend home again. Though, his kid seemed to really like Yao.

Ivan never knew that Yao had a soft spot for children, until the man managed to make Anna, his nine-month old daughter finally stop crying. Yao actually made her laugh, when she would only scream like a fiend around her parents...

* * *

Ivan always found time to meet with Yao at least once a week. Though they only had a few hours together, Ivan never resorted to just getting a quick fuck from him. That was the coward's way out.

They took their time, and explored every nook and cranny, every knot and knuckle in each other's bodies, so they could gather enough sweet memories for the lonely nights ahead. Soft touches, dulcet kisses. Like sipping old wine, they indulged in each other. There weren't any places to go, nor quotas to meet. For the few precious hours they could squeeze out of their lives for escapism, they only had each other. There wasn't enough time to assess, nor to regret anything. The rational side of Ivan's brain still screamed for him to stop this madness at once, but quite frankly, he didn't care anymore.

Ivan wanted to stand at the rooftop of San Francisco's tallest building and declare to the whole world how much he loved Yao, the truth he had denied for so long. But sadly, he couldn't. There was too much at stake, and it wasn't their intention to harm or ruin anyone's lives.

He had once offered to leave Natalia for Yao, so they could see each other more often. But, never did he expect the other man to become completely livid. He punched him right in the head, and scolded Ivan for not taking responsibility for the promises he had made.

"If you _dare_ to leave Natalia, I will make sure you never walk again. Is that in any way unclear?"

Ivan nodded timidly, as Yao drove them together in a furious kiss.

Though it was cute that Ivan's puny lover thought he could pluck a hair from his head, he still took his words to heart.

"Ivan," Yao said softly this time, clutching the other man's waist as if his whole eternity depended on it, "I have always thought you were the most wonderful man in the whole world. Don't let me down, okay?"

* * *

For the most part, they had to schedule their secret meetings around Ivan's availability. It would always be him who called Yao after squirming out of Natalia's claws, while Yao seemed to always be ready, no matter what day of the week it was. Ivan knew that he was still going to school to study... accounting, was it? Yeah, something really hard.

Yao was probably busy with homework all the time, and had his own vibrant college social life that Ivan knew better than to mingle with. He had such a bright future ahead of him, while Ivan was stuck here, to be the wife to his wife.

Yao was going to graduate really soon, and Ivan had said that afterwards, they were going to go on their own honeymoon together. It was not because he felt like he owed Yao something, but that he genuinely wanted them to spend some time together.

It was the week when Natalia travelled up to Alaska with little Anna to visit his father-in-law, who had especially requested Ivan to never set foot on his estate. So, Ivan had some free time to himself. Though Natalia, as paranoid as she was, had hired bodyguards to "protect" him, Ivan easily silenced them with a few techniques he knew from the army.

They took the train to Los Angeles, and settled for a rusty motel overlooking the golden beaches that were deserted due to the cold weather. Otherwise, it was a fairytale-like place. The factory from down yonder poofed out fluffy grey clouds, and the murky water sparkled under the sun like a stormy night sky. Shrivelled autumn leaves danced with each other like pixie skeletons, and the sand felt cold beneath their feet. But, the best of all was that finally, Ivan and Yao were alone.

To the rest of the world, they were just two lovers who had escaped from their bleak urban lives to start their new life together. Perhaps, a young high-school couple going on their very first date behind their parents' backs.

They window-shopped in the local stores for name-brand stuff they could never afford, or strolled along the beach until they thought they had reached the ends of the Earth. On the nights when they didn't feel like cooking or munching on leftover crackers, Ivan took them to the burger stand right beside their motel. The tables were greasy, and Ivan had to lay out an old newspaper before Yao could take a seat. But, at least they served in huge portions, and it was nice on their wallets.

Ivan had jokingly told the gullible-looking server boy that he and Yao were newlyweds. To their amusement, he was actually convinced, and gave out his best wishes with a slice of chocolate cake.

* * *

"Oh god, Ivan... Don't stop, please..." Yao whimpered from between swollen, cherry-red lips.

Ivan was more than happy to comply, and guided his hips deeper into Yao's tight, throbbing cavern. His lover was shivering underneath him, spinning in a cocktail of pleasure and pain. Ivan was so close to the other man that he could feel Yao's goosebumps slithering down his skin.

All this time, their gazes were fixed into each other, as if locked in a contest of who wouldn't be the first to look away, the one to snap out of the hypnosis they had swirled each other into.

Yao's hands clutched onto Ivan's jaw to make sure that he was looking at him straight in the eye, as he ravaged him. Their laboured breathing, which became even more so as Ivan picked up his pace, were only inches away from each other, the clouds of warm fog mixing and mingling in the stagnant autumn air.

They tried, they really did, to find a slow, passionate rhythm in their lovemaking, and surrendered in lust's good name.

"Yao, I'm going to..." Ivan was muffled by a pair of lips crashing into his, as he grunted and released his seed, collapsing upon Yao's heaving chest. His lover did the same a few seconds later, splattering his essence all over Ivan's stomach.

Ivan loved Yao, so much. Everything about him, how he could be strong as steel, yet gentle as water, how beautiful he had always been after all these years. An angel whose snowy wings Ivan knew shouldn't be tainted by his own dirty fingertips.

After all, he had already done enough, lain this creature from heaven upon a bed of crusty sand, leftover junk food, and littered beer bottles.

"Ivan, I've always wished that we could someday move out of the city together, and build a farm or vineyard or something. We'll just live a simple life, where we could always be together... Wouldn't you like that?"

"But it'll never work, Yao, you know that already."

Yao frowned, and gathered whatever he could of Ivan's sore, flaccid body into his arms protectively.

"Yes we can, I'd do anything for you, Ivan. Just for the sake of love, I've left my family back home to come here, abandoned a good friend of mine, and even turned down a job, because I want to be with you, forever..."

Ivan sprung up. "Wait, you've turned down a job?!"

Yao realized he had said too much.

"Well, yeah..." He mumbled, rolling his head to the side, "This company in New York were looking for new graduates, and they offered me an accounting position. They said I had pretty good grades and tons of experience. It's not much, but..."

Ivan's face fell.

"Don't worry..." Yao added weakly, making Ivan smile again with his thumb, "Nothing in the world will make me leave you behind. Even if they made me the CEO of that company, I would still choose you."

Ivan let Yao's hand down.

"Listen to me, Yao. You went through all this school, just so you could find a better job and make more money. You _have_ to go there, do you understand? And not waste your life like this!"

Yao glared at him, and shook his head slowly in utter disbelief.

"I've waited for years and years to be with you," he muttered lowly, "If you think I'm going to give up the happiness I'd wanted for so long, then you have sadly, _sorely_ underestimated me, Ivan Braginsky."

"Yao, I..." He reached out a hand to touch his face, but was smacked away.

"Get away from me." He said venomously.

Ivan froze.

"Didn't you hear what I said? Get the fuck away from me!"

"No!" Ivan roared, and wrapped his arms around his lover, "I said _no_!" Despite Yao's thrashing and rolling around in the sand, Ivan still wouldn't let him go, even after he got kneed in the crotch. Ivan could only hold him tighter, as Yao eventually collapsed into a heap of sobs. It was all he could do.

"Please, Ivan, let me stay. I promise I won't cause trouble..."

But, this wasn't really Yao's fault. He had given him everything, but even though Ivan gave back all that he could, it wasn't enough. Ivan wanted to give him more than just stolen moments, stolen kisses. Yao deserved all the love and affection Ivan would never be able to give. He deserved a warm home, a loyal companion, and to be held by a pair of arms that was reserved for him only.

"_If you truly loved someone, Ivan, you'd let him go..."_

That was what Arthur and Francis had told him, the night before Ivan left for their trip.

Yao had a much better life waiting for him, and he'd find someone wonderful, kind, and just as perfect as he was. Someone who wasn't... Ivan.

He realized exactly what he had to do now, and had to do it little by little, to make it more convincing in Yao's yes. It was a staged performance, one which he could not afford to make a mistake. Their kisses will become colder, and their moments shorter, just like how sweet midsummer nights must be forsaken by frost.

Up to this point in life, Ivan had always lived underneath the intentions and ambitions of others, being played like a puppet. When he joined the army, when he went to war, when he came to America with Yao, when he married Natalia, Ivan had never made any of these decisions solely to his own accord, he had always been the victim of causality.

In a sense, Ivan had always been a soldier, a mere pawn, being controlled by the more powerful people looming above him. But now, Ivan had realized that he must become the commander of his own fate, for Yao's sake. Hell, he'd sell his soul to the devil if he wanted him to.

**TBC**

* * *

Poor Ivan, such a tragically flawed character. Aww, after 8 chapters of sexual tension, they've finally gotten together only to split apart one last time.

I hope you enjoyed this update. The final chapter is already written, and I would have to edit it. So, it should be posted sometime next week or the week after. **Please review! **

This has been quite the journey. Though this story is not as good as I wanted it to be, I'm proud that I've finally finished writing it. :) There's plenty of room for improvement with future ones.


	10. Chapter 10

I love the accomplished feeling of finally finishing a story.

* * *

The days became weeks, and then months. Sex became mere kisses, and the kisses turned into hugs. Eventually, Ivan and Yao were sitting on opposite corners of the bed, trying to draw tepid conversations from thin air.

At first, Yao had thought that Ivan was just feeling sick or something, and brushed it aside. But after a while, as he began to piece everything together in his head, he became distraught. Yao kept asking Ivan what was wrong, but yielded no answer. And to make matters worse, he began to shift the blame onto himself.

"Did I do something wrong, Ivan?"

Ivan shook his head.

"If I did something you didn't like, just say it. Don't ignore me like this..."

Reaching over, Yao's hand hovered over Ivan's, hesitating whether to break the other man's cold bubble for the first time tonight. Ivan could feel the barest radiation of warmth, and quickly shoved it into his coat pocket before his heart could melt.

"Anyways, I have to go soon." Yao said after a few minutes, squeezing the other man on the shoulder, "I promise I'll visit again next week, when you said Natalia leaves for her business trip."

He tipped Ivan's chin upwards, and in trying to lure some passion, or a flicker of a response out of him, Yao gave him one last, desperate kiss. Ivan, on the other hand, was finding it harder to not give in. How could he keep his composure sewn tight at every seam, when everything around him was falling, crumbling to dust?

They broke apart after a while, and Yao clicked the bedroom shut before Ivan could muster the courage to stop him. Immediately, he licked Yao's taste off his lips, quickly wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve, and sat up straight. Natalia was coming back in ten minutes.

A certain suspicion often flickered in Ivan's mind, that Natalia knew about his affair with Yao all along. But to be honest, Ivan didn't care anymore. Whether she did or not wouldn't make the situation any better or worse. Besides, Ivan felt that he had done a damn good job as a husband for all these years. Therefore, he owed Natalia nothing.

It wasn't any of her business what went on between him and Yao. At home, Ivan performed his daily tasks that she had assigned him, and nowadays even cared to make the floors cleaner than usual. He took care of the baby, went to the supermarket, and cooked their meals from scratch. But at night, Ivan no longer allowed the sweet thoughts about Yao to tuck him into sleep, thanks to his efforts in trying to cure himself of an essentially nonexistent sickness.

Maybe, Ivan should have never even went up to talk to Yao back in Manchuria. If that day, he had not pretended to hear his cries and went back to camp, instead of sifting through barbed wire to find him, then then things wouldn't end up like it had.

Then, Yao would still be the person Ivan remembered him to be, facing the world with a big grin, and infecting everyone around him with his joy. He wouldn't be sitting hunch-backed on the edge of his bed right now, staring unblinkingly at the floor of his apartment as if it was a flatscreen television.

It was because of Ivan that Yao had become like this. Lifeless eyes, sallow skin, cracked lips, it looked like he hadn't slept for days. And maybe if he was finally free from Ivan, and this... curse, maybe colour would finally come back to his cheeks.

"Hey, Yao?"

Yao turned back eagerly. "Yeah, what is it?" His voice tipped in excitement, his lips almost curving into a smile.

"I think we should break up."

Finally, he said it. Those words slipped out of Ivan's tongue more easily than he thought. He waited quietly and patiently for Yao's answer. Nothing can be a surprise to him now.

Yao's face fell, and for a few eerie seconds, all that could be heard was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, without warning, Yao tossed his head back and started to... laugh. Dry, cynical cackles gnawed at his eardrums like metal on glass. He fell back on the bed, and rolled around in a frenzy.

"Don't you think I'm stupid, Ivan?" Yao asked finally, resting a hand on his forehead, as if to check if he had a fever.

"N-No..." Ivan mumbled, raising an eyebrow.

Yao shook his head, and smiled bitterly to himself. "For these past few years, everything I've done has been for you, Ivan Braginsky. But you know what? I _loved_ you, and I would waste my whole life on you, as long as I could have a small place in your heart..."

"Apparently, that was too much to ask, and I was too naive."

Ivan could feel Yao's words echoing through the empty crater where his heart used to be. To him, they were as meaningless as the whistling winds outside.

"I have to go Yao," he said finally, barely mustering enough strength to walk to the door, "You better take care of yourself from now on."

"No!" Yao cried. He crawled up, tackled into him, and hugged his legs with all his strength. "Please don't leave me, I'll do anything to make it right, Ivan... I promise I'll be a better mistress for you, and do whatever you want! Just, don't leave me..."

Ivan finally turned back to face a stark-naked Yao, his legs leaking with semen, and tears dripping from his chin.

Ivan had always remembered Yao to be the only soldier in camp who he actually looked up to— the brave, iron-willed man who could effortlessly make a dozen men sink to their knees. But now, Wang Yao had never seemed so... vulnerable.

"Look at yourself," Ivan spat, "I've turned you into this, don't you understand? You'd be much happier, and actually made something out of your life if you'd just forget about me!"

"But I love you Ivan, I love you so much..."

Ivan shook himself free, walked away, and slammed the door behind him before his doubts could drag him back. He ran down the stairs of the apartment building, trying to tune out the wails and sobs coming from behind the wall, and not to mention, from his own mouth. He waited until he entered a dark, abandoned alley a few blocks away to completely break down into tears.

_It's for the best_, he kept telling himself,_ it's for the best._

* * *

"Well Ivan, here's the baby," Natalia said matter-of-factly, dumping their daughter into her husband's arms like a pile of groceries, "I'm due for the meeting in half an hour, and I expect a warm dinner when I come back." Those beautiful eyes of hers narrowed with authority.

"Yeah, sure..."

She grabbed her car keys, threw on her coat, and slammed the door shut in the blink of an eye.

This was Ivan Braginsky's perfect married life.

Ivan sighed, and dragged his feet to the sofa and plopped down upon it, the impact making little Anna hiccup a bit of her lunch.

Ivan looked down at her. Such a small, fragile life form, entrusted in his own clumsy hands. It could move, it could breathe...

He wondered if she ever grew up, whether she would become as stricken and torn by life as he had. Ivan was still so young, but his shoulders were already laden with regret, and his ears rang, every hour of the day, reminding him of the many apologies he should have said, but never did.

When she grew up, Ivan was going to tell Anna that if she ever found something that she wanted, she better go after it with all her soul and mind. She wasn't going to give up just because she had the whole world pitched against her. Or else, Anna was going to be spending the rest of her time on Earth wallowing in what could have been.

* * *

After another sleepless night, Ivan finally dragged his way back up to Yao's doorstep the next morning. It wasn't right what he did yesterday. He should not have made Yao cry and then kick him away like that. Even if they weren't getting back together, Ivan felt he owed him an apology at least.

He knocked on the door, but there was no answer, though he could hear faint footsteps and papers rustling. He cursed to himself and swung the door open, knowing that Yao never locked it anyways.

"Yao! I know you heard me knock—"

"He's not here anymore." Roma answered calmly, turning away from the window to face the other man.

"What do you mean he's not here anymore?!" Ivan roared. There was no point in being polite, Roma already knew Ivan wasn't too fond of him.

"Well Yao called me yesterday to say goodbye, because he was leaving this town for good. He found a job on the East Coast, since there was nothing worth him staying here anymore."

All blood drained from Ivan's face, and his vision went white. His knees buckled, and he quickly found rest upon the nearby sofa.

"He's gone..." Ivan repeated slowly to himself, and at the same time, trying to soak in _exactly_ what those words meant. "Well, then he's probably at the train station right now, getting ready... Yeah, okay, I'll go right now to get him!" Ivan said quickly and stood up, about to sprint to the door.

"Get back here Ivan, there's no point now. Even if you got Yao to stay, you don't _deserve_ him anyways..."

Ivan shot his head back.

"_You want to say that again?_" He growled, walking up to Roma's face. He tried to shove the other man in the shoulder, but he didn't budge an inch. Roma was tougher than he thought.

"You don't deserve him," He repeated, more slowly this time, only centimetres away from Ivan, "All he did for you was give, give, and give, but you didn't care. Yao's too good for this town, Ivan, and sure as hell too good for _you_!"

Ivan already had his fist scrunched in his coat pocket, his wrist shaking with eagerness. But, his mind said no. There was really no point anymore. Roma's words wouldn't become any less true, even if Ivan smashed his skull to bits.

He turned and walked out the door, down the stairs, out onto the street, and back to his own apartment. Ivan took his key out of his pocket, opened the door, and gave a curt nod to his wife, who was sitting on the couch examining her freshly painted nails.

"I recognize that walk of shame from miles away, Vanya. Welcome back."

She laughed at her words, and a victorious grin spread across her lips. "The company's having a business meeting tomorrow evening, and a lot of important will be there. I bought you a new tuxedo, and it's on the bed. Don't embarrass me this time, okay?"

Ivan grunted in agreement. Was this really what he had become, his wife's mere escort?

He walked over to the fridge to get a new bottle of vodka. He snapped the neck in half by hitting it against the table, tossed his head back, and let a fair portion of the clear liquid tumble into his mouth. It should have burned going down his throat, but he felt nothing. It tasted like water now.

Intentionally ignoring Natalia's furious glare, Ivan marched to the bathroom with his drink and locked the door. His back fell against the wall, and his knees loosened, letting himself slide until he hit the cold floor tiles. Finally, he was alone, except for the only friend he ever needed in the world, from which he took another gulp.

He spent the rest of the night there, ignoring Natalia's door pounding and screeching commands for him to "get over himself." Finally, when he could hear no more, Ivan swung and slapped his wife across the face, which, easily enough, made her scurry back into the kitchen.

"You think that whore loved you?! Even if you cry until your eyeballs fall out, Yao's still not going to come back! _Ever_!"

But Natalia was wrong. Yao's still here, Ivan could see him. The more he drank, the clearer his vision became. His face, his hair, his smile... But as Ivan reached his hand to touch him to caress those dear cheeks once more, he could grasp was cold, damp air.

He was running a never-ending race, and Yao, his sweet Yao was calling out for him. But, the fading illusion of his presence seemed to always be a galaxy and millennium away.

What was he saying?

"_I hate you, Ivan! You pitiful, lying bastard!"_

Ivan's heart would be breaking, if only he had one.

* * *

"_No, Ivan, I don't regret anything, and if I were to be in your place today, I'd die happy."_

_Ivan could only smile at the subtle insult. He didn't mind, Yao was just taking another jab at this dying man, who deserved it to begin with. _

_Instead, he thought back to what he remembered to be the happiest time in his life. It felt almost like a lifetime ago when he was in Manchuria, with its bitter winters, pitch-black lakes, and grey, wistful skies. _

_For Ivan, the closest he had ever been to heaven was sitting at the edge of one of the many jutted stone cliffs after a morning hike, feeling the clouds and pine-scented mountain air enthrall him. He'd reach over, and Yao's hand would be within reach. Yes, his fingers would be calloused and bruised to the bone from all the gruesome training. But at least they were real..._

_Being a soldier was all Ivan had ever been good at. He was given orders on who to annihilate, and he did so, effortlessly. But the rest of his life had left Ivan confused, without a shotgun in his arms and a target before his eyes. Perhaps, for all this time, his greatest enemy was himself. _

"_Ivan, am I a fool? My greatest wish is that in another life, I would be reborn as a beautiful woman in a white wedding gown, so that you can't help but fall in love and spend the rest of eternity with me. Really stupid, isn't it?"_

_Yao was the only person in the room who started giggling, but not before wiping a tear from his face. _

_Ivan smiled wearily. "No, you're not stupid Yao, because I'll be waiting for my bride on the banks of the Amur until she comes," he said, and planted a shaky kiss on the back of Yao's hand. _

_Ivan's sight had begun to dim, the white walls of the hospital room, the equipment, the large open window, were all melding into one spinning blur. He knew that his time was about to come, and he fought no more. He had lived a long, wasteful life in this world. Though, if the angels above gave him another chance, he would still take it, if it meant that Yao would be there waiting for him. _

"_Y-Yao, how come after all these years, you still look as flawless as you did when when we first met?"_

_Yao shook his head and laughed. "I have grown old too, Ivan. See? I have wrinkles under my eyes, and my hair's gone grey..."_

"_No!" He said firmly, the effort from which only made him cough out more blood, "M-My Y-Yao still looks like how I remembered him to be. Now you tell me, why is that?!" _

_Time was running out, and he wanted answers. _

_The other man sighed, and looked out the window. The sun was finally setting, after a long, long day. _

"_Well, I suppose it's because the happiest I had ever been in my life was when I was you, Ivan, and I never let myself take a step beyond that point in time... I wanted my soul, heart and mind to preserve that moment perfectly. Anything is possible, Ivan, if you wish hard enough, or that's what I think at least."_

"_So if I did the same, right here, right now, would time stand still for me too?"_

_Yao smiled. "Maybe."_

_To Ivan, it was good enough. Taking his last breath, he pulled Yao in for a kiss, and left the rest in good faith. _

**Fin. **

* * *

There we go, I'm finished. I was crying my heart out as I was writing that last bit.

I'm a little stuck as to what I should work on next. Maybe start on another series, or continue writing one-shots? I don't really know... But anyways, **please review**! It's your last chance to tell me your feels.

_Why is this story called, "Genevieve, I beseech thee."?_

_At first, the two main protagonists in the story go about the many challenges and hardships in their lives, while thinking that they can somehow make it right by their own hands. They are successful in the beginning of the story, having survived the training and fought their battles all by themselves. But as the years passed and life went on, they find that they can no longer handle everything being thrown at them. In a way, Ivan kind of dug his own grave because he is unable to get over childhood horrors to establish a loving relationship with Yao, and instead agrees to marry Natalia to help him forget. And, this bad choice leads to tragedy. _

_The main theme I wanted to depict in the story is how helpless people can be when faced with problems they clearly are not fit to handle. Ivan has spent his childhood in complete isolation except for his abusive father, and is continued to be cut away from the rest of the world when he joins the army. So, when he meets other people, he didn't really know how to interact with them in a healthy, socially conventional way. Soon, he is swirled into a whole whirlwind of drama and relationships that he doesn't know how to deal with, and everything goes downhill from there. _

_I think that given the circumstances (ie, Ivan's troubling past and his flawed character), the story would have had a happy ending if and only if there was divine intervention of some sort. _

_Hypothetically speaking, if Ivan possessed faith of some sort, he would have resorted to praying and __**beseeching**__ for salvation in his darkest hours. Sadly, I didn't make the existence of the sublime a possibility in the story. _

_And last but not least, Genevieve was a fifth-sixth century Catholic patron saint from France who had a pretty name. _

_So yeah, these are my excuses for the story's weird title. _


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